The Way to Eden
by er0sennin
Summary: After a quick trip to Utah, Avery's world comes crashing down around her. War. Political negotiations. Assassinations. Pregnancy. Wait... what was that last one? And why is Boone so mad? F!Courier x Joshua Graham. Slight Boone x F!Courier. Cass x Whiskey.
1. I Was Wrong

_In a bar that's always closing_  
 _In a world where people shout_  
 _I don't wanna talk this over_  
 _I don't wanna talk it out_

* * *

 **Chapter One: "I Was Wrong"**

* * *

The night was unusually chilly. Wind whistled through the teeth of the giant dinosaur head he perched beneath and he shivered, pressing his back to the door. His hunting rifle was discarded, propped up against one of Dinky's faded white teeth. It had been an uneventful shift. Novac had been rather peaceful in the past few months, with only a few ghouls and a handful of raiders to pick off. At least, that's how it appeared in the late hours of the evening. Serene, quiet; with only the twinkling stars and a cacophony of coyotes to keep him company. He sighed, tilting his head until it was flush with the door.

Man, he was bored. It was nights like tonight that made him contemplate reenlisting with NCR. At one point in time, he relished in the silence of Dinky's bereft wooden head. He found the night shift calming, a place for him to recharge and escape the public for a little bit. But now, since the REPCONN facility was devoid of any ghoul activity and the local Nightkin all but obliterated, the night shift seemed to drag on. The tranquility he once cherished was no longer fulfilling and there he sat, twiddling his thumbs until the sun peeked over the mountain range and he was dismissed.

Not that his days were any more exciting. That hotel room began to feel more and more like a cage the longer he resided there. He thought that once the courier recruited him, he'd never see this infinitesimal town again. But of course, things never go as planned. He rolled his shoulders and stretched, his hands reaching far above his head, his fingertips gracing the splintered ceiling. As he opened his eyes, still reeling from the euphoric sensation of his muscles expanding, something moved. He froze. With a slow, methodical sweep, he removed his sunglasses and crouched.

It was a small silhouette, bobbing and shambling down the road, heading from the eastern mountain range. With steady fingers he reached for his gun and hoisted the barrel onto the ledge of the balcony, peering down the sites. It took only a fraction of a second for him to catch the interloper in his cross hairs, his finger ghosting over the trigger. The figure was lithe, a large pack hoisted over their shoulder. The gait of this figure quickly ruled out ghoul or any other irradiated creature. This could only mean that it was human in nature, possibly a trader, due to the heavy amount of equipment they were carrying.

But traders never traveled at night. It was far too dangerous, seeing as the roads were littered with petty thieves eager to strike at unsuspecting, ill-guarded travelers. So this led him to conclude that this person was either a very dumb, amateur wastelander looking for a night to stay, or... no, it couldn't be her. He swallowed.

The figure grew closer, coming to a stop at the intersection adjacent from the hotel lobby. They seemed on edge, their body language going from languid and relaxed to rigid, standing a little more erect than before. They adorned a long, tattered duster, accompanied by a shabby looking scarf wrapped around their face. It unnerved him. The shredded fabric of the duster fluttered in the breeze, the figure ominously still in the barren streets, the moonlight glinting from two golden slits from beneath their hood. He'd prefer a ghoul to this spooky mother fucker.

As if they could sense his gaze upon them, they snapped their attention towards his position. A few beats passed and he remained still, his eyes never leaving the trespasser. Then they raised their hands, their palms facing outward in a submissive manner. Were they trying to show that they weren't a threat? He quirked an eyebrow. Also, how did they figure out his position so easily? He felt his stomach churn with unease.

Slowly, as if not to spark any alarm, the person removed their hood. Flaxen hair spilled from the hood and toppled to their shoulders. The scarf followed shortly, the person tugging it downward with their index finger. It hung loosely from beneath their chin, their face now exposed to his hungry stare. And just like that they kept walking, their military style combat boots scraping against the uneven tarmac.

It wasn't until they were fifty yards away that he was able to make out their characteristics. It was a woman, her delicate features swallowed up by the shadows. She reached for something in her duster, pulling it from a hidden pocket and patting it a few times with care. Swiftly she donned the item, adjusting it from side to side, ensuring that it was in place. In the moonlight it seemed to glow, its dull red fabric a beacon in the ominous darkness. His jaw went lax as he stared, his hazel eyes locked on this tiny person in the red beret.

After a few measured strides she came to another stop. She placed her hands on either hip and looked up at the mouth of the dinosaur expectantly, her sandy hair fanning around her shoulders like a halo.

"Hey, you can put the gun down," she bellowed, the sheer volume of her voice pulling him from his trance. "I think I've clearly established that I am not a threat."

Oh, no. He knew that raspy timbre and suave, but irritating, cadence anywhere.

His lips tugged into a scowl and he stood, his gun still poised. "Give me one good reason not to shoot you."

The woman scoffed. "Come on, Boone. You can't be upset with me still."

His scowl deepened.

"Oh, who I am kidding? You can hold a grudge better than most," she relaxed her shoulders and continued to walk towards the dinosaur. "Can we talk about this?"

"No."

"I'm coming up."

"No, you are not."

"Yes, I am!" She called out in a sing-song tone, quickly changing her direction.

Her pale head disappeared behind the hotel gate and he inwardly groaned. Of all the damn nights she had to show up. It took only a few moments before he heard her jimmy the door to the souvenir open, her boots clambering up the shaky wooden steps. He kept his rifle raised, the long barrel pointed towards the door, watching with trepidation as she jiggled the small golden handle. Boone had the foresight to lock it, because he hated being surprised, but locks were only a momentary road bump for this woman. Locks could never stall her for long, which made hiding from her incredibly hard (and frustrating). The handle stopped for a brief second before he heard a triumphant "a-ha!" from behind the doorway. To his horror, the door creaked open, and he was met with a glinting pair of yellow eyes.

"Put the gun down, Boone," she said sternly, her eyes narrowing an imperceptible amount.

"No."

"You are being such a drama queen," the woman whined, pushing the door open a bit more with her boot. "Are you seriously pissed off?"

His face was growing hot, he could feel it. Whether it was ire or embarrassment he wasn't sure, but he kept his face hidden behind his scope, his scowl deeper than ever. "Yes."

She threw her hands up, exasperated. "Okay, so I was gone longer than anticipated. But I honestly had no control over it," she started, folding her arms across her chest. "You see, I-"

"I've been stuck here for three months," he bit out, cutting her off. "You said you'd be gone for only three weeks."

"So you're going to shoot me... because I took a while getting back?"

"...yes."

"Drama queen," she repeated with a snigger. With a steady extension of her arm, she wrapped her slender fingers around the barrel of his sniper rifle, pushing it towards the floor. "Besides, it's not like I was forcing you to stay here. You could've gone anywhere else and waited for me."

"Then it would have taken another three months for us to find each other if we had no definitive meet up point."

She pursed her lips. He was right, and the way she drew her lips into a thin line only proved that she agreed.

With a heavy sigh he put his rifle away, pulling the strap over his head and letting the weapon hang against his back. He pulled his sunglasses out of his pocket and put them back on, staring at the woman through foggy lenses. She hadn't changed much, maybe a bit more tan, if that were even possible. Her hair had grown out a bit, which he liked. It was wavy and sun-bleached, streaks of white stretching outwards from her scalp and trailing along her golden tresses.

"It's almost six," she commented lightly. "I'll walk you back to your hotel room."

Boone looked at his cracked, derelict watch. "I have to wait for Manny to arrive before I can abandon my post."

"Fuck Manny," she said sweetly, her eyes wide as she flashed him an innocent look. "That asshole can get over it. It's not like anything major will happen within an hour, this place is pretty much a paradise now that all of your threats were removed," she coughed and added, "by yours truly."

He rolled his eyes so hard he could see the inside of his skull.

They walked in companionable silence to his hotel room. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and tilted his head back, his eyes remaining transfixed on the sky. The sun was beginning to rise, the predawn clouds melting together in a stunning array of orange and pink hues. The desert was a dreadful place at times, but he adored the sunrise. Something about the tones seemed innocent and pure, and for a moment he could forget about how awful this post-apocalyptic wasteland was.

They closed the gap between them and the hotel room and Boone fumbled for his keys. The room was dingy and dark, the only source of light being a forlorn lamp on the night stand.

"Good to see this place hasn't changed," she ran her finger along the dresser top, grimacing when she inspected her dust laden fingertip. "You could dust it, at least."

"No point," he grunted, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. "I'm never here."

"That's true," she shrugged.

There was a brief moment of silence.

"Look, I really am sorry it took me so long to get back," she started. The awkwardness between them was palpable and he watched as she paced around the room, her hands locked behind her back. "I wouldn't have kept you waiting if it weren't really important."

He remained quiet.

"My trip to Zion was not, ah... it wasn't easy," she said in a measured tone. Her eyes fell to her feet and she stared, her thin brows furrowing together in thought. "I'm sure you don't want to hear of it, but just know that I thought about coming home every day."

He peered at her from beneath the brim of his sunglasses. She tucked a strand of errant hair behind her ear, trying hard to look anywhere but at him. He wanted to push away the growing dread in his stomach, to swallow the lump of regret that began to build in his throat. He wanted, so badly, to let his spite fade into understanding and empathy... but he couldn't. It wasn't in his nature. As he stared at her penitent, crestfallen features, all he could think of was when he saw her last.

He had left her at the mouth of the Northern Passage, where they had a lengthy spat about whether or not she were to continue on without him. Obviously, she left him behind. The last time he saw her, he was staring daggers into her retreating form. Boone didn't want to admit it, but he was a bit miffed at how easily she just shooed him away. As if he had nothing better to do than wait for her with his thumb up his ass. So, try as he might to look upon this woman with clemency, he couldn't get past his own petty grudge.

"You have to understand, Boone," she was whispering now. She raked a grimy hand through her hair, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip. "I was overwhelmed. I didn't know what to do."

"So, you left." It wasn't a question.

She swallowed and licked her lips, "I know it wasn't right." She leaned against the dresser, crossing her arms over her cuirass. "But you can't say you wouldn't have done something similar, if you were put in my position."

The old saying, "do as I say, not as I do" drifted across his mind but he kept his mouth shut. He couldn't admit to her that he was mad that she left him, because then he would have to admit that he liked having her around... that she mattered enough in his otiose existence to get under his skin. There was no way in hell he would give her that power.

"I don't know why I thought I could talk to you about this," she pushed herself away from the dresser and began pacing again. "How can you remain so angry and then refuse to discuss the issue that is bothering you? It's almost like you enjoy stewing in your own bitterness."

"I'm angry because you... you," he ground out, biting his tongue to stop himself from blurting out something awkward.

"Because I what... went somewhere without you?"

"Yes," he flashed her a steely look "A soldier never abandons his comrades."

"'Abandoned' is a bit harsh," she mumbled.

"Please, Avery. You were so eager to get rid of me that you didn't look back once when you left."

"Of course I wanted to get rid of you," she said, exasperated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "After what you did, or rather what you tried to do... I couldn't escape fast enough."

"I was drunk," he answered flatly, trying to ignore the prickle of embarrassment that coated his skin.

He wanted to push the memory of that night away. They had been celebrating their success in wiping out a Legion raiding party at Bitter Springs. Avery had gone far out of her way to help mend his past wounds, going as far as taking him back to the place that forever changed him. He had never had such a devoted friend and partner. He was unable to express his appreciation with words, but in some way he knew that she understood. So when he had one too many shots of liquid courage, he tried to show her how thankful he was, albeit the way he went about doing so was unorthodox. And maybe a tad inappropriate.

Little did he know a drunken kiss would be construed as the most heinous of insults on her part.

"Being drunk is not an excuse. Besides, how did you expect me to react? You freaked me out, Boone," she stopped pacing. "I thought the only way to reestablish the friendship we once had would be to get away for a while."

"A while is an understatement," he couldn't stop himself.

"It was three months, Craig," she said his first name with vehemence, like she was scolding a petulant child. "I was offered a permanent residence there and I declined. I could've escaped everything here in this putrescent desert, but I didn't. I left and I came back. Does that mean nothing to you?"

"You shouldn't have left the Mojave in the first place," he barked at her. "We had work to continue, and instead of moving past that... situation, you ran away."

"Much like you ran away from what happened at Bitter Springs," she turned on him, "and like you ran away from what happened to Carla."

He jumped to his feet, his hands clenched at his sides, "You leave her out of this."

He hardly ever lost his cool. He found outbursts were counter intuitive and often refrained from them. But whenever someone brought up Carla, especially when they use her to further a point or to antagonize him, he found it difficult to keep his anger at bay. Avery was not accustom to seeing him this way either.

She stared at him, her amber irises wide, her pupils tiny onyx dots swallowed up in a sea of gold bullion.

"Get out," he pointed a stern finger toward his hotel door.

Avery took a step back and gave him a quizzical look, as if he had just slapped her across the face. She paced slowly to the door, giving him time to recant, to retract those awful words. But he wouldn't.

As she pulled open the decrepit, rickety door, she threw a glance over her shoulder. "I'll be in Freeside. You're welcome to join me once you've gotten over yourself."

The door slammed behind her, leaving the room draped in darkness and heavy silence. He watched her leave his life a second time and, hopefully, it was the last.


	2. The Only Mistake

_I was wrong_  
 _I was wrong to ever doubt_  
 _I can get along without_

* * *

 **Chapter Two: "The Only Mistake"**

* * *

The bar was noisy, the tiny room filled to the brim with smoking gamblers and half-baked Vegas hookers. The crowd was bustling tonight, a cacophony of hedonistic laughs and low timbre guffaws echoing around her. There was to be a doo-wop performance, although she wasn't quite sure what that meant. All she knew was that a man performing tonight had traveled quite a way from Washington, D.C. to perform at this venue, and Francine and James were beyond excited.

She propped her elbows up on the counter and buried her face in her hands, wishing she had gone somewhere far less noisy to brood. An untouched rocks glass was nestled between her elbows and she stared at the drink, suddenly finding the soda and whiskey concoction unappealing.

All she had thought about on the walk back from Novac was getting her hands on some Sunset Sarsaparilla and whiskey to ease her agitation, but after the first sip she realized her tastes had changed quite significantly. After three months of living in a relatively dry state, save for the very peculiar hallucinogenic drinks offered to her by the Dead Horses' shaman, she found it hard to stomach liquor. She cradled her chin in her hand and used the other to push away the drink, watching as the caramel liquid sloshed back and forth. She had only been back in the Mojave for two days, maybe she just needed some time to readjust.

Without the intoxicating feel of alcohol to smother her tumultuous feelings, she was finding herself reflective and even a bit regretful.

Her and Boone had been connected at the hip ever since that fateful day in Novac when she helped him to exact revenge on the woman who sold his wife into bondage. She put that red beret on and didn't take it off for months, even though she abhorred the NCR and all it stood for. Just being part of a team after so many years alone was enough for her.

But then there was that night after Bitter Springs.

After taking Boone to Bitter Springs to terms with what had happened all those years ago, they had learned that a Legion raiding party was closing in on what was left of the refugees; people who had escaped Caesar's attacks on their people. She remembered perching on Coyote Tail Ridge, Boone laying flat on his belly like a snake, his sniper rifle aimed towards the valley. They had taken out three waves of Legion soldiers, effectively cutting them off before they ever reached the perimeter of Bitter Springs. After the incident, Boone seemed to stand a little taller, as if a weight had been removed from his shoulders. She even saw him smile once... well, it was kind of a smile. More like a smirk, but it was progress. He had finally been unburdened. So they celebrated.

That was the night she learned Boone was the same drunk as he was sober; quiet and stolid with little to say. But as they sat out under the stars, sitting close together on one of the picnic tables in Gomorrah's courtyard, he began to open up. She found it odd but acknowledged the fantastic development. There was a time where Boone would utter nothing but commands, deciding to remain quiet as he trotted behind her. It improved with time, as he grew more comfortable with her, progressing from one-worded commands to full sentences. He even answered some of her inquiries from time to time. But their bond was more of an unspoken one, and she was okay with that.

But that night, he was a new person. His alcohol laden mind made him more candid and honest, although he tried hard to contain it. There was a moment when he said nothing, his mouth pursed into a thin line, his hazel eyes boring into hers. She could never forget that look. He had forgone his sunglasses and his face seemed naked without his murky shield to hide behind. Then he muttered something. It was barely audible and she asked him to repeat himself, leaning in a bit out of reflex to hear him better. That was when he did it. He had closed the gap between them, his lips crashing onto hers. The last thing she remembered was slapping him across the face and storming off.

Her hand itched at the memory and she balled her hand into a fist, trying to assuage the uncomfortable tingling. Maybe it was the way she leaned in, or maybe it was her fault for prodding at him to open up. All she knew was that night he changed their relationship forever. It had been pure and unsullied, completely platonic. Then he had to go and fuck everything up by trying to kiss her. Try as they might to get things back to the way they were, she knew that what happened that night would be a constant in the back of their minds. It was clearly established that he felt something beyond platonic towards her, and that was something she wasn't sure she could forget. Would keeping him around be leading him on- give him some misguided hope that something could happen? Or was that just a drunken fluke and she was completely overreacting?

She buried her face into her hands again and let out a frustrated groan.

Somehow she thought taking a brief vacation to Utah would alleviate some of the awkwardness between them, and relieve her of the stress of dealing with New Vegas. But she knew that it would be like looking into a broken mirror. You could glue the pieces back together, but you would still be able to see the cracks in its reflection. She didn't know why she went to Novac the night she returned. Maybe it was closure or some horribly clumsy attempt at testing the waters. Or maybe... what happened in Zion gave her some incentive to fix things with her partner.

Fix things. Was that even possible? She smiled dolefully.

"Oh no, you're smiling. That means you're not drunk enough," a voice cut through her thoughts, violently dragging her back down to reality.

Avery jumped and looked to her side, where a familiar redhead was sliding into the vacant stool next to her. "Cass, you scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry," she gave a rueful smile, gesturing to Francine behind the bar. Francine quickly delivered a shot of cloudy liquid to Cass, who slammed it back in one go. She set the empty glass down on the counter and threw Avery a quick glance. "When did you get back?"

"Two days ago," Avery answered sullenly, her eyes drifting to the flaky wooden counter.

"Where's your better half?"

"My better ha-" she stopped when realization hit her, "- oh. You mean Boone. He's back at Novac."

Cass' eyes widened in surprise, "Without you? Oh no... did y'all have a lover's spat?"

"Stop," Avery snapped. "It was nothing of the sort."

 _It was precisely that._

"Oh, aren't we a bit touchy," she gave Avery a gentle shove with her elbow. "Then why isn't he with you right now?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," the blonde rubbed her eyes in frustration, letting out a heavy sigh.

"Okay, okay. Geeze," Cass said lightly as she ordered another round of shots. When the drinks arrived, Cass handed one of the glasses to Avery. "Drink up, soldier."

"I don't feel much like drinking," she eyed the drink warily.

"And why the hell not?" Cass' gaze wandered to the untouched drink between Avery's arms.

"I just don't feel like drinking," she pushed the shot glass back to Cass, who took it without hesitation. "It doesn't taste right."

The redhead threw back both shots, grimacing at the aftertaste. "Eh, it tastes just as shitty as usual."

"I know the alcohol hasn't changed," the blonde laughed tightly, her attention turning to the reserve of ancient bottled liquor behind the bar. "That shit has been the same since the war. No, I think I just lost the likeness for it. Utah was practically a dry state and I went without for three months."

"A dry state?" Her companion sputtered in incredulity. "Holy shit, Ace. How ever did you survive?"

"Believe it or not, there is a life without alcohol. It may be a little more dull, but it exists nonetheless," Avery chuckled.

"Utah. So that's where you've been, huh?"

"Yep. I went up north with Happy Trails Caravan Company."

"Never heard of 'em," Cass took off her rattan hat and placed it on the bar, exposing her messy auburn hair tucked into a loose bun. "You were gone for quite a while, though. King was asking if you just up and abandoned the movement."

"No, I'd never do that," Avery replied, tucking a strand of flaxen hair behind her ear. "Regardless, an independent Vegas is an idea that far transcends little ol' me. Even if I had abandoned all the stress of gaining the Mojave its autonomy, someone else would find a way to accomplish what I have not."

"You don't get it, Ace. People _have_ tried this, but no one has even remotely succeeded before you came along," Cass spoke affably, her tone soft and sincere. "But then you up and disappeared for three months and the whole of Freeside was in a tizzy."

"Hm," the blonde hummed in disinterest.

"Why were you gone for so long?" Cass queried.

Avery thought of Joshua and his warm fingers placed atop hers, his smoke burdened voice whispering in her ear. He had asked her to stay, to remain in Zion with him and the Dead Horses. A shock of pain lurched in her chest and she inhaled sharply, her skin prickling with regret. She would be lying if she said she didn't consider taking up permanent residency there. But her wants meant very little at a time like this and she turned him down, instead deciding to head back to Mojave and finish what she set in motion.

Avery shook her head slightly. "It was only supposed to be a few weeks, but we were ambushed as soon as we set foot in Zion."

"No shit! What happened?" She propped herself up on her elbows and leaned forward, looking at Avery with eagerness.

"Utah is like another planet, Cass. There are trees- _trees_! They were green and everything. And the lake water is so clean, you can drink from it without getting sick," she sighed dreamily, remembering the unique landscape. Aside from the behemoth versions of Cazadors and Bighorners, the place was practically a paradise. "But it had its faults. When I arrived, Zion was conflicted between three tribes. There were the White Legs, the Sorrows..."

She stopped. She didn't want to mention the other tribe or their righteous war chief, but Cass was curious and she knew she'd wring Avery until every drop of information was gone.

"What was the other tribe called?"

"Dead Horses," her heart fluttered at the mention of them and she swallowed. "I was the only surviving member of the caravan, and a scout from the Dead Horses found me. He rushed me back to his camp and they treated my wounds. But my team... there was nothing he could do for them."

"I'm sorry, Ace," she muttered tersely.

"Thanks, Cass. They were good people," she smiled at the memory of Stella, another fiery redhead who embodied the definition of a capable woman. Intelligent, witty, and abrasive. "I befriended a woman who reminded me a lot of you, actually. Minus the alcoholism."

"Har har," Cass said sardonically, rolling her eyes. "I don't like the booze but the booze likes me."

It was Avery's turn to roll her eyes, "Sure. Whatever you say."

"So that's what took three months? You were injured and had to heal before you traveled?" She asked, ignoring Avery's comment. "Must've been one hell of an injury."

"Not exactly," she said slowly, debating on whether or not to share the entirety of her stay with her companion. "The Dead Horses offered me safe passage out of Zion, but only if I helped them with a few things first. Quid pro quo and all that."

Avery intentionally left out the whole debacle with the Legion being the driving force behind the White Legs' offensive. That was an entire conversation she was not ready to discuss, nor did she have the energy. Cass would just berate her for being so stupid and allowing herself to get caught up in such a mess. Not to mention, word of the obliteration of the White Legs had no doubt reached Caesar by now, and going toe-to-toe with the Roman God wannabee was not a possibility she wanted to entertain any time soon. Although it was a very tangible issue she would have to face at some point. She sighed. Best to just avoid it all together at the moment.

"Sounds like quite the adventure," her friend nursed a drink, lolling it around and watching its contents stir. She seemed less rambunctious than before, and it put Avery on edge. Then, slowly, methodically, Cass turned her suspicious gray eyes onto her. "But why did you leave in the first place, Avery?"

Avery mulled over a response. What could she say? She couldn't say she fled the Mojave because of Boone. That was frivolous enough in and of itself, and it was far too weak of a reason to support her leaving. She could be honest... that Boone was her breaking point, that last snippet of stress that pushed her over the edge. It was happenstance that at the same time she was feeling backed into a corner with political negotiations, war preparations, and Boone, that a transmission for Happy Trails appeared. It was a beacon of hope in her otherwise tiring existence, and she didn't regret taking it.

"A small holiday never hurt anyone," she answered nonchalantly, leaning back in her seat.

"But a holiday while in the middle of negotiations with the NCR?" Cass twisted her body to face her, one hand clutching her drink. "A holiday while trying to gain support for war? While trying to..." she lowered her voice and threw a quick, paranoid look around, "...assassinate House?"

"When would be a good time to take a holiday, Cass, if not when you are the most stressed?" She refused to look her friend in the eye, settling on staring daggers at the wall of alcohol behind Francine.

"Maybe when it's all over?" She sounded frustrated. "Look, I understand taking maybe a day or two... but three months? In the middle of enacting your entire plan? It just seems... reckless. Irresponsible."

"Well then, I'm irresponsible. Maybe I'm not fit to lead this movement. By all means, take over for me and save me the trouble," thinly veiled frustration bubbled to the surface and she snapped.

"Ain't no one saying that," Cass said smoothly. Avery tried to rise from her seat but Cass caught her by the shoulder, pushing her back down onto the bar stool. "Sit."

Avery felt affronted by Cass' little stunt and glared, her honey eyes steely.

Cass gave her a bemused look. "You know you can't actually pierce me with your stare, right?"

"Maybe if I stare hard enough," Avery mumbled. She needed to escape Cass' relentless interrogation. "This has been great Cass, catching up and all, but I need to hit the hay. I have an early meeting with House tomorrow."

"Does House know you're coming?"

"No," a faint smirk tugged at her lips. "But by now, he's probably aware that I'm back in New Vegas. It won't be long before he sends for me."

"What's with that smirk?" Cass pointed an accusatory finger. "Whenever you smirk like that, nothing good comes of it."

"This will be good, I promise," she nodded solemnly. "Good night, Cass."

Avery grabbed her scarf from the bar top, tossing the woolen fabric over her shoulder. She fumbled for her bag and opened the flap, her hand roaming the contents. After a few seconds she brandished a handful of caps, a kind of currency she hadn't used in what felt like ages, tossing them haphazardly onto the counter. Wordlessly, she turned to leave, but something caught onto her. She halted, her boots digging into the scuffled linoleum floor, and threw a glance at her arm. Cass had dug her slender fingers into the material of her long coat, the fabric knotted as her pale talons held on tightly.

Her amber gaze followed the length of Cass' arm until it reached her face. Cass' silvery irises were wide, her delicate, pretty features twisted in concern. Avery liked Cass because she was hot-tempered and honest to a fault. She didn't like overly emotional persons, and she didn't like when her friends stared at her like Cass was doing now.

Cass released Avery's sleeve with a rueful grin. "I can tell something is off, Ace. Just please... don't isolate yourself. I don't want to get all mushy or nothin', but, you know," she paused, her eyes searching Avery's face, "I'm here."

"I know," the blonde said, barely audible, her eyes flickering back and forth between Cass'.

Without another word she turned on her heel, retreating to the confines of her hotel room.


	3. Loose Lips

_It's getting faster, moving faster now, it's getting out of hand,_  
 _On the tenth floor, down the back stairs, it's a no man's land,_  
 _Lights are flashing, cars are crashing, getting frequent now,_  
 _I've got the spirit, lose the feeling, let it out somehow._

* * *

 **Chapter Three: "Loose Lips"**

* * *

Wind whistled through the valley as Boone hoisted his legs up with a sigh, propping his feet against one of Dinky's faded wooden teeth. His hunting rifle was at his right, discarded out of lack of need. A cigarette dangled between his teeth as he withdrew a matchbook, striking one of the sticks. It crackled to life, a small glow of orange in the darkness, and he brought the flame to his cigarette. Deeply, he inhaled, feeling the harsh smoke fill every alcove of his lungs. As he let out a breath, watching as the silver tendrils of smoke tickle the air, he felt the familiar rush of nicotine course through him.

He tucked the matchbook into the pocket of his pants and reached for a half empty bottle of whiskey. The nights had been slow, and he found the only way to keep himself from going stir crazy was to drink himself stupid. Tonight was no different, and he especially welcomed the warm tingle of alcohol after his encounter with Avery the day prior. Boone hated conflict with a passion. It was a waste of time to be so consumed with arguing and this mentality of his often was the source of conflict between him and Carla. Ironic. His lack of wanting to fight only spurned more arguments.

But this time, his apathy drove the only important person in his life far away from him.

Why was he so unable to just talk about his feelings? What was it that forced him to smother every ounce of humanity he had, to isolate himself every time someone got close to him? Now, he knew he had every right to pissed at Avery. After all, she did slap him in the face and then run to an entirely new province _just_ to get away from him. Was he truly so… awful? He frowned, taking another drag of his cigarette. She had been gone for three months without so much as a letter to let him know she was alive. She was inconsiderate and impulsive with no thought for anyone else aside from herself.

Although… Novac was the first place she came to upon her return. She had tried to apologize, albeit horribly. Maybe the mere fact that she came back meant more than he realized. He frowned again.

Then something caught his attention; a flicker of something in the distance… a person? He tossed his bottle of whiskey at his feet and grabbed his hunting rifle, balancing the barrel against a wooden tooth and peering down his scope. To his dismay, he wobbled a little bit, the dizzying effects of alcohol muddling up his coordination. Once he was able to regain stability he pointed his scope towards the intersection at the west end of Novac. As if on cue, the moment he focused in on the disturbance, he watched as it crumpled to the ground and disappear into the darkness. That definitely was a human. Maybe they were injured.

Without a second thought, Boone hoisted his rifle over his shoulder and shuffled down the stairs. The last thing he wanted to do was a perimeter check but if someone was injured and they died on his watch because of his laziness, he may not be able to forgive himself. Better to be safe than sorry.

As soon as he was outside he broke into a jog. He picked up speed, although running in his inebriated state was near impossible. His limbs felt weak and shaky as he moved, wary of any pitfalls or holes in the dirt so he could avoid tripping. It wasn't long before he was able to see the person in question, their silhouette barely discernible, swallowed up by the shadow of one of Novac's residences.

But as he grew closer he slowed to a walk. Something felt off. He couldn't place his finger on it, but the hairs on the back of his neck went rigid and apprehension tugged at him. He slowly approached the individual, his breathing ragged and labored, his eyes trying to adjust to his dim surroundings. He was about to call to them when he paused. Something definitely was not right here. The closer he got the more he realized that this looked less like a person and more like wayward laundry.

Just to be sure, he brought his boot up and kicked part of the material out of the way only to realize… it was empty. It was just a heap of clothing. This could mean one of two things. The first one being that Boone just happened to see someone's clothing that had blown off their line and overreacted, which was very possible given his intoxication. The second possibility being that someone was trying to draw him out of hiding and far enough from town, which could only mean…

It was a trap.

 _Click._

Then he heard it; a click, the smell of Rem Oil invaded his nostrils.

His spine prickled with unease as he felt a presence behind him. They couldn't be more than a foot away. He turned his head slightly and froze when he realize he was staring down the barrel of a .44 magnum revolver. Great. His alcohol laden mind tried to process what was happening and, most importantly, how he was going to get out this. It had been years since he was forced to be in close proximity during an attack. His specialty was long range. After all, he was a sniper. But right now, all that mattered was disarming this person. The only way would be to use some of his hand-to-hand combat training from his recruit days. He was rusty, but it'd be worth a try.

Quickly, he ducked, lowering himself below the line of fire. He spun around on his heel and reached for the attacker's arm. His attacker tried to jump back but Boone was quick and caught onto his wrist, swiveling the attacker's arm away so the gun was no longer pointed at him. He parried a blow from his attacker's free hand, effectively blocking the punch with his forearm. Bad move. He felt his wrist sprain under the pressure and he cursed under his breath. His limbs trembled as he struggled to keep the aggressor's blows at bay, his right forearm worsening by the second. He needed to do something to stun this man and he needed it now. That's when he realized, with sobering clarity, that his assailant's stomach was unguarded. Padded, yes, but there was nothing defending him if Boone were to, oh, say kick this guy in the gut.

Well, it was now or never.

Without hesitation, Boone brought his leg up and used his momentum to dig his boot into the attacker's stomach. The person stumbled backwards a few feet and out of the shadows of Novac's abandoned houses and into the moonlight.

Then Boone saw it… the familiar red and black plumage, the notorious football padding, and the crudely-made leather lappets. An incredibly cold sensation spread throughout Boone's limbs as he stared, his mouth suddenly very dry. Right now, he was face to face with a Legionary… and Legionaries didn't travel alone.

He felt someone deliver a blow to the back of his knee and he lost his balance. Without any time to recover, something solid slammed into his side, right into his kidney, and he tumbled forward, hitting the ground with a grunt. The wind was momentarily knocked out of him and he wheezed, struggling to take in air.

There were a few moments of silence before someone dropped to a crouch before him.

"If it isn't the courier's little NCR dog," the man spat at the dirt, as if the mere mention of the NCR left a bad taste in his mouth. "Where is she?"

The tone of his voice was light and affable, but there was an edge to his words, so sharp that they sliced through the still night air.

"Where is the courier?"

Boone glared at his attacker's boots and remained silent, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his temples. Like hell he'd give Avery up, even if he was royally pissed off at her. He felt someone grab the back of his shirt and haul him upwards and onto his knees, a hand coming around to grip his chin. They jerked his head forward, forcing him to look upon the Legionary inquiring about Avery.

The man was wiry and pale, his cheeks gaunt and his eyes hidden behind large black sunglasses. Atop his head was a coyote pelt and it draped over his shoulders and across his chest. There was nothing immediately threatening about him, but Boone knew that when it came to the Legion, their soldiers were deceptively strong. And vicious.

"You will speak when spoken to," the man said evenly, his thin lips twitching ever so slightly.

Boone felt rage swirl in his chest. It was imperative that he kept his cool, but these Legion bastards made it incredibly hard to do so.

"Just slit his profligate throat, Vulpes," one of the soldiers barked.

"Yeah," one of the others spoke up. "Let's see if his patriotism is only skin deep."

A low thrum of laughter resonated throughout the small group. But the man, whom Boone now acknowledged as Vulpes, raised his hand to quiet them. The silence was immediate and Boone wondered what it was like to possess such command. Vulpes must be a high ranking Legionary.

"I often do not give second chances and my patience is wearing thin. But I will ask again: where is the Malpais' whore?"

Malpais. That title sounded familiar. Wait a minute… did they call her a whore? Specifically, the _Malpais'_ whore? His brows shot up into his hairline.

"You might as well kill me," the sniper said in low tone, "because I have no clue where the hell that woman is."

"Ah, so you _can_ talk," the man said in a mocking tone. "Trying to deceive me is unwise. I have been tracking her since her departure from Zion, and I know that she came here," his voice was even but Boone could denote a threat behind his calm demeanor. "I have since lost her trail. It is vital that I learn of her location and speak with her."

 _Speak with her._ What, did they think he was born yesterday? That he wasn't an NCR veteran with years of experience with Legionary tactics? In fact, he should have been killed already for his lack of cooperation. Men had been killed for a lot less under Legion scrutiny, so why they hadn't broken his neck yet was something he couldn't quite comprehend. All he knew was that these men were after Avery, and they were insulting his intelligence by implying that they only wanted a word with her. Aggravation boiled beneath his skin and he sneered.

"Fuck you." Boone made a sound from the back of his throat, gathering up as much mucus as possible, and spat. The glob of saliva struck Vulpes on the cheek and Boone tried not to smirk. That felt good.

The man wiped at his cheek with the back of his glove, his face impassive behind those thick, blocky sunglasses. He shook his head slightly, "I tried to be civil, but it seems one cannot bargain with degenerates."

Boone's satisfaction was short lived as he felt the men holding him tighten their grip, dragging him to his feet. He felt a spike of panic in his chest as his arms were fastened behind his back, a Legionary on either side, holding him in place. Slowly, almost tortuously so, the man named Vulpes rose to his feet. Boone hadn't realized how tall the man was, as he easily towered over Boone by a foot or so and he felt intimidated despite himself. Before he realized what was happening, Vulpes struck Boone across the face with the back of his hand. Boone's head snapped backwards like a ragdoll and he saw stars; an immense, searing pain gripping his skull and throbbing with each heartbeat.

"How should we dispose of him?" One of the men holding him inquired.

"I say we gut him," a man somewhere behind Boone said. "Hoist an NCR flag with his viscera."

"No," Vulpes deadpanned, cool and collected. "I have something else in mind."

That's when Boone felt something strike him in the back of the head and everything went black.

* * *

The bonfire crackled and groaned, its hungry tendrils engulfing the dried logs and dehydrated foliage. Flames stretched upward towards the murky clouds, billows of silvery smoke spiraling and trembling on the wind. The drums beat frantically, the low timbre and rhythmic structure of the music echoing around the canyon. Her toes dug into the sand as she twirled, the leather pleats of her skirt unfurling around her as she moved. Heat from the fire kissed her skin and she swayed, allowing herself to be engulfed by the fire's fervor. She let her head fall back and her eyes slid closed, her lithe body moving to the beat of its own volition.

Then she felt it. It prickled her skin and burned, a sensation far more powerful than the ravenous heat of the flames. She came to a stop and opened her eyes, turning to address the origin of her disturbance. Her eyes searched the valley until she saw it- a flash, the moon glinting off of a metallic surface. He was there, his back flush against the cliff face, his pistol hanging forlornly against his hip. His eyes, like two shards of broken glass, pierced her core and she found herself moving towards him.

It wasn't long before she reached him, her hand outstretched in wanting. His gaze flickered to her hand momentarily before wandering back to her face, confusion flashing across his azure orbs. She gestured again and he paused. She watched the wheels turning, his calculating brain trying to process what she was offering. With a frustrated sigh she reached for his hand and pulled, dislodging him from the wall.

They were far from the others but the music still thrummed and filled the air. She buried her face into his chest, her fingers coming up to clench the stiff material of his vest. The pungent aroma of smoke and sandalwood invaded her senses, his scent intoxicating. Tremulously, his hands found their way to her lower back and he pressed her into him, their bodies flush against one another as they swayed. Her heart thumped wildly behind her ribcage, suddenly very aware of their proximity, his fingers burning holes in her skin. Their movement stopped when the music faded and she pulled back, his cerulean orbs searching her face.

Something fluttered in her gut and she inhaled sharply, her eyes never leaving his face. A shaky breath escaped her lips and she raised a hand, placing a delicate palm against his bandaged face. She waited. She waited for him to tell her to stop, to yank away, to cut her off before she took it too far. But he didn't. Instead, he leaned his head into her palm, his eyes sliding closed with a heavy sigh.

She traced a finger along his jaw, bringing herself up on her tiptoes to plant a chaste kiss against his covered lips. "I hate when you do this," she murmured against his mouth

"Why?" He asked, his smoke damaged voice reverberating in his chest.

"Because when I wake up, you won't be here."

She jolted awake.

The room was pitch black, the light from the hallway filtering in from beneath the door. She blinked, feeling dizzy. Behind her sternum, her heart raced frantically, thumping against her ribs as she tried to catch her breath. The void before her was encompassing and she stared, trying to make out shapes hidden in the shadows. She could discern the silhouette of her dresser, and see the sharp edges of the broken mirror against the far wall. Still her room. She felt disappointment tug at her gut and she frowned. She was actually disappointed. She swallowed, her mouth as dry as the Mojave. What had she been hoping for?

She rolled over and fumbled for her pip-boy on the nightstand, bringing it to her face and squinting when the screen flicked on. It was only four in the morning. She let the pip-boy fall against the duvet and groaned, rubbing her hands over her eyes. With a grunt she threw her legs over the edge of the bed, cringing when her feet made contact with the cold wooden floor. She shuffled, half awake and blind to the world around her, feeling against the wall as she went. It wasn't until she reached the bathroom that she was finally able to turn a light on. She grimaced and clenched her eyes, her pupils offended by the fluorescent lighting above the bathroom mirror.

With a sigh she turned on the faucet, giving her face a good splash of cold, irradiated water. If there was one thing she missed about Utah, it was the clean water. Nothing was more refreshing than bathing in water that didn't make her hair turn to straw and aggravate her skin. She turned to the rusty ceramic tub behind her and stared at it with distaste. She needed to shower, but the thought of hopping into that tepid radioactive stream made her scowl in disgust.

With trepidation she turned on the shower and watched the rust-colored water trickle from spout. Maybe that splash of cold water was enough and she could avoid showering for another day. After all she didn't smell, right? With a slow raise of her arm she turned her face and got her nose as close to her armpit as she could, taking in a whiff. Oh. Gross. That definitely was a funky smell. With astounding effort she pulled the knob to the left, trying to draw more hot water from the pipes. She slipped her cotton bottoms off and tossed them aside with a kick, her flimsy black tank top following suit.

She stepped under the stream and shivered as the room temperature water dribbled down her back. The stream was weak, the head of the shower rusted and blocked by calcium build up. After thoroughly shampooing and scrubbing away the grime of the desert, she turned off the shower and exited the tub. With the side of her hand she wiped away the excess condensation from the mirror and stared at her reflection.

Idly, her hand traveled up to the nape of her neck. She traced a finger along her jawline, the tip of her digit drawing imaginary circles against her olive skin. As the pad of her index finger reached her collarbone she stopped, trembling. A faint memory of coarse lips trailing frantic kisses down her neck invaded her mind, the sensation of his fingers against her collarbone tangible. The expanse of skin beneath her hand prickled at the recollection, her nerves alight, breaking out in a wave of goosebumps.

She retracted her hand and shook her head, trying to banish the memories. Dwelling was of no use. She left of her own volition. He understood... and she couldn't abandon her resolve. But now that she was home, she was finding it difficult to care about any of her prior obligations.

Her rule of thumb was to never let anyone get too close. Close, personal relationships and frivolous liaisons only distracted her from her goals. Like now, for instance. She should be getting dressed and preparing for her surprise meeting with House, not longingly staring in the mirror and thinking about _him_. What was she, a teenage girl? Avery clicked her tongue in annoyance and picked her discarded clothing off of the floor.

It didn't take her long to get ready. She threw her damp flaxen hair up into a bun, choosing not to deal with it today. She pulled out a pair of black trousers and matching long sleeve shirt, hastily pulling them on. Next she laid the segments of her leather armor out on the bed, inspecting them for any holes or weaknesses. If she were to successfully pull this off, it would be downright stupid to walk in with sub par armor. And the lighter the armor, the better. She didn't want to trigger any alarm from House's precious pet robots.

After ensuring that her armor was free of any fault, she shrugged into the cuirass and slid the sleeves on, securing them to her brassarts. The leather pants went on over her trousers, which felt bulky but she liked the added security. She'd had the foresight to pack the necessary supplies before she had fallen asleep, neurotically counting and recounting each of her Stimpaks, Stealth Boys, and ammunition. She wanted to have the inventory of her supplies memorized so she was suitably prepared for any situation—especially ones that involved her and a multitude of bullet holes.

She retrieved her discarded pip-boy from the bed and locked it onto her wrist, pulling up her notes. At the very bottom was a special one she had acquired before fleeing to Utah. It was House's antechamber code that Yes Man had willingly handed over after she killed Benny. Poor Yes Man was probably wondering where she'd disappeared to. Regardless, she'd have to see him after today. So no harm done.

On her way out of the Atomic Wrangler, she saw Francine behind the bar polishing glassware. She approached the counter and came to a stop when a horrible, pungent smell invaded her senses.

She took a step back and covered her mouth with her sleeve. "Dear god, Francine. What is that smell?"

Francine paused her ministrations and gave Avery a bewildered look. "James is cooking some Brahmin steak in the back. Why? Does it smell like it's burning?"

"No, it smells _putrid_. Are you sure the steak hasn't gone bad?"

"I'm sure. I mean, I bought it from one of the local farmers only yesterday and I've kept it refrigerated," the woman seemed frazzled by Avery's accusation. "I would never serve my customers rotten meat. I don't want them to die. I want them to live so they can continue to spend money here."

Avery's stomach did a flip as a wave of nausea hit her. There was definitely something wrong with that meat, but she didn't feel like arguing anymore.

"I'm heading out today. I might be back in the evening but in case I don't return, here's a few caps to hold the room for me," she dug around her bag and produced a handful of caps and slammed them on the counter.

"Will do," Francine nodded and went back to polishing her glasses.

Avery made a mental note to no longer buy food from the Atomic Wrangler and headed toward the Lucky 38.

* * *

His ears were ringing. Why were they ringing? Boone groaned internally and tried to open his eyes, but found that he couldn't. It felt like two weights had been tied to his eyelids and he had neither the strength nor the energy to lift them. He felt something tight around his neck and he tried to raise his hand to shoo it away but found his body useless. A fluorescent light shone through his lids and he tried to turn away, the sudden appearance burning his eyes immensely. And holy shit, did his head _hurt_.

"Boone? Hey, Boone!" Someone slapped his face. "Are you alive?"

"I don't know, am I?" Boone rasped out, finding his voice. "Sometimes I forget."

"Well, that wasn't depressing at all."

Mustering up as much strength as possible, he cracked an eye open and saw the eager face of Manny hovering over him. "Go away."

At this, Manny laughed. "I would absolutely love to leave you the fuck alone, but I can't."

"Why?"

"Because you need to explain to me why I found you passed out in the middle of the road," he replied flatly. "And also, why is there a slave collar on your neck?"

At this, Boone shot up but instantly regretted it. There was a deep pounding in his temples and he pressed his palm to his forehead with a grumble. The pain seemed to ebb away and leaned back against the frame of the bed, bringing his hand up to clumsily feel for the slave collar. Yep. It was there.

"Can we get it off?"

"Eh, I've tried but it's on there good. Besides, it doesn't seem to be... active. At least, not from what I can tell. It was hard to do a thorough exam since you're wearing it," Manny positioned himself at the edge of the bed with a grunt. When Boone remained silent, Manny cleared his throat. "Don't clam up on me now, Craig. Why the hell is this damn thing on you?"

"Legion, why else?" Boone said curtly, shooting Manny a dark look. "They ambushed me while I was on patrol."

"Legion? In Novac?" Manny paused. "Why?"

"They're looking for Avery," he said with a frustrated sigh. He didn't feel like discussing this.

"Avery... Avery..." Manny's eyes twisted up and he tapped his chin, as if trying to recall some distant memory. After a moment he snapped his fingers, "Oh! That little courier who stole you away. Why were they looking for her?"

"Fuck if I know. All I got from the interrogation was a headache and this fancy new necklace." Boone ran a tired hand over his face, trying to remember the events that occurred. "They did call her the ' _Malpais' whore_.' The title of Malpais sounds familiar but I can't quite recall..."

"Malpais?" Manny interjected.

"Yeah."

"As in Malpais Legate?"

Boone gave Manny a quizzical look. "You know what that is?"

"Or whom, rather," he responded, his eyebrows knitting together. "Do you remember the Battle of Hoover Dam?"

"Of course," Boone responded. He wished Manny would get to the point. "We weren't at the dam, but you and I were stationed nearby."

"Well, when Caesar attacked the dam he sent a huge wave of soldiers. And who was at the forefront, leading all those savage bastards?" Manny paused, waiting for Boone to put two and two together. After a moment Manny let out a frustrated noise, "The Malpais Legate. He was Caesar's right hand man."

Boone's face fell a little bit as his friend continued.

"But I heard that Caesar was so pissed off by losing Hoover Dam, that he had the Malpais Legate executed on the spot. Lit on fire and thrown into a canyon or some shit."

 _Ouch._

"But... if this man is dead, why did they call Avery his whore?" Okay. Boone was officially confused.

"No clue," Manny shrugged. There was a pregnant pause and Manny placed a hand on Boone's knee, "Not that I'm upset by it, but why did the Legionaries leave you alive?"

"Probably the same reason they attacked me in the first place: they want to find Avery. They knew she stopped by a few nights ago, but somehow she was able to lose their tail," he said slowly, still trying to process all of this new information. "I'm sure they're going to track my movements. Maybe they think I'll lead them to her."

"That makes no sense," Manny said with a huff. "At least you'd think they could be less obvious and place a tracking device in your clothes or something. Do they _want_ you to know you're being watched?"

Boone was genuinely at a loss and he shrugged, putting his hands up in exasperation. "You know about as much as I do, Manny."

"Do you want me to fetch Avery for you?" Manny suggested. "Maybe she can give us some insight. Do you know where she went?"

"The last time I saw her..." he trailed off for a moment, remembering the hurt look upon her face and the way she slammed the door as she left. He shook his head. "The last time I saw her, she mentioned something about Freeside."

"Ah... that's located in New Ve-"

Manny was cut off as the collar around Boone's neck started emitting loud, repetitive beeping. Boone brought his hands up to the collar and struggled in vain to release it, his heart thumping wildly against his sternum. Manny jumped off the bed and put as much distance between him and Boone as the small hotel room would allow, defensively shielding himself with his forearm. Like that would be of much help. The beeping grew faster, growing more and more concise until it reached a crescendo and... went silent. The collar dislodged from Boone's neck with a hiss and fell into his lap, inactive.

"What in the hell...?" Manny asked.

Adrenaline coursed through Boone's system and he swallowed, apprehensively picking up the device to examine it. He spotted a small mesh screen toward the front of the collar. He blanched.

"Oh, no."

"What?" Boone didn't respond and Manny paced over and repeated, with more urgency: "What?!"

"That's..." he pointed to the small screen located inside the collar, "that's a microphone. Someone was listening to our conversation."

"Then that means..." Manny trailed off.

"They know where Avery is," Boone muttered, anger and panic so evident that his body began to tremble. His knuckles were gripped tightly around the collar and they turned white, before he chucked it across the room. He growled, " _Fuck_!"

He'd just unintentionally signed Avery's death warrant.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey all! I just want to say I hope you're enjoying this fic so far. I've been working on this chapter since 9AM, editing and re-writing large portions of it. I'm still not entirely happy with it, but it's the best it's going to get. And my apologies if that hand-to-hand scene with Boone and the Legionary was awkward. I found being able to properly express physical altercations in writing quite a challenge.**

 **This is going somewhere, I promise ;D**

 **Also, thank you Xaydin! I am a fan of your fics and I'm pleased to get such a great review from you. I hope I continue to keep you interested!**


	4. Under the Gun

_I was thinking about her skin_  
 _Love is a many splintered thing_  
 _Don't be afraid now_  
 _Just walk on in_

* * *

 **Chapter Four: "Under the Gun"**

* * *

Joshua crossed his arms as he stared, eyeing the abandoned campsite with growing intrigue. A small fire pit, half-emerging from the Utah earth, and a few items scattered around it. He dropped to a crouch and picked up a discarded piece of burlap. The coarse material was coated in a thick, yellowish powder and he dragged his finger through it, bringing it to his nose. Through the material of his bandages, he was able to pick up the pungent mix of Broc Flower and Xander Root. His brows knit together as he idly crumbled the material in his palm, letting it fall back to the ground after a few moments.

Healing powder.

He didn't want to jump to conclusions, as healing powder was a common (yet crude) poultice often crafted by vagabonds and people who had no other access to medicine. It didn't require much skill or thought to make, either. It was simply two dehydrated plants crushed into a fine powder and consumed by adding it to water.

But he hadn't seen healing powder since his days in the Legion. The Dead Horses used their own brand of medicinal herbs and that coupled with Daniel's training in modern medicine made the need for healing powder obsolete.

He entertained the idea of Legion skulking around Utah. It wasn't too farfetched, seeing as the White Legs had recently been obliterated. And since Edward had been trying to recruit them, he probably sent a squad to investigate after learning of their extermination.

Was that necessary? Joshua frowned slightly. Edward was a smart man. He had cajoled the White Legs into attempting to massacre the Dead Horses and the Sorrows as a rite of passage into the ranks of the Legion. Edward _knew_ Joshua was here, alive. So why else would he send a group of Legionaries to investigate the White Legs' loss? Surely he acknowledged that it was Joshua who was the source of it. And, more importantly, were his soldiers so poorly trained that leaving behind evidence of their presence wasn't an issue?

Unless it was meant to be left behind. This was a common route for patrol and Dead Horses scouts often used it for hunting. It would be an odd tactic, that was certain, but perhaps the Legion wanted to let Joshua know in a subtle way that he was being monitored. Subtlety was not Edward's forte, though. His eyes traveled back to the campsite.

Were Legion soldiers still in Utah? The campsite had been abandoned recently, probably within the last week, seeing as how the items were still intact and not dissolved by the Zion rains. The last time it rained was the day before the Courier's departure. He had asked her to remain in Zion until the monsoon rains had passed.

But if the items were dry, that meant that they had been left sometime after the storm.

Then it clicked. They hadn't been here for Joshua.

"Graham?" Someone called for him.

Without turning, Joshua gestured to the campsite. "Daniel, take a look at this."

Daniel flanked Joshua and peered over his shoulder, a soft sound emanating from the back of his throat. "An abandoned campsite?"

"Legion," Joshua grunted as he stood. "I found healing powder."

"Legion?" Daniel sounded confused, but Joshua could denote a hint of fear in the tone of his voice. "Why were they here? Something to do with the White Legs?"

"I thought so too, at first," Joshua hummed as he kicked some dirt over the remnants of the fire pit, watching the dirt swallow up charred branches and foliage. "But I have a suspicion that they were after our little Courier."

There was a pause.

"Avery?" Daniel inquired, concernedly.

Joshua felt a twinge in his chest at the mention of her name and he stilled, his eyes staring off, unfocused. It was odd to hear her name spoken aloud. She had only been gone for two weeks but it felt like eons. Her absence left a prominent hole in his existence and he abhorred it with every fiber of his being. God brought her to him only to take her away and he realized, with certainty, it was his penance. He had committed so many atrocities in his lifetime and he had to accept that this old man was no longer allowed happiness… it would forever be his humbling punishment, a part of his life that he must sacrifice to God.

"I wonder what they want with her," Daniel mused aloud. Then his tone darkened an imperceptible amount and he reflexively rested a light hand upon Joshua's bicep. "Graham, she had no escorts when she left. She was alone. What if…" he trailed off.

What if Legion ambushed her? What if her small body was currently rotting in a precipice with nature reclaiming her to the soil? He pictured her thin neck split open, her blood spilled in reckless violence, her honey-colored eyes wide and forever unseeing. He knew Legionaries, and he pictured them taking her in her last moments, bruising her olive skin and nipping at her like starved mongrels. He shook his head to banish those awful thoughts as something twisted in his gut.

"She's strong," Joshua said quickly. "She can handle a few Legionaries."

"How can you say that with such... blind confidence?"

Joshua turned his steely gaze onto his companion, "I know her and I _believe_ in her. You should, too."

"I don't doubt Avery's strength," Daniel replied slowly as he removed his hand from Joshua's arm. "But I am worried that she has been harmed because she would be easily outnumbered. A Legion tail is no small issue, Graham, and I think you are trivializing the danger she is in."

"There's not much we _can_ do, Daniel." Joshua hung his head a bit lower, his eyes traveling to the jagged horizon of Zion's mountains.

"Well I, for one, cannot be so complacent," Daniel let out a huff. "I'm going to send Waking Cloud through the Southern Passage."

"Why?" Joshua asked, impassive.

"To see if there are any signs of a struggle or that a fight ensued," Daniel shuffled from one foot to the other and crossed his arms over his chest. "She sacrificed three months of her life to aid us. She put herself in harm's way, even got herself seriously injured, all to help us protect our home. I think we at least owe her this."

Joshua was quiet for a long while as he mulled over Daniel's words.

Daniel was unaware of Joshua's internal battle. He fought the urge to cut a bloody swath through the Mojave just to find her, to ensure that she was safe and that she hadn't succumb to the Legion. God help him, he wanted to kill anyone who even think to harm her. But he had a tribe to lead and he could no longer afford to go cavorting through the desert.

"Bring a few Dead Horses scouts," Joshua said with finality, still refusing to look at his friend.

"Safety in numbers," Daniel breathed through his nose. "I'll send out a scouting party first thing in the morning."

"Very well."

Daniel went to turn but he paused momentarily, throwing a concerned look back to his stoic comrade. "I'm sure she's fine, Graham. We're just bearing on the side of caution."

Joshua said nothing but threw Daniel a solemn nod. There were a few beats of silence before Daniel disappeared and, giving the campsite one final glance, Joshua followed him into the canyon.

* * *

Entering the Lucky 38 with her current intentions was… unsettling.

At one point she had walked into the giant steel metropolis of sin and vice with hope, with more optimism than even the happiest of Wastelanders. But then she realized that House was nothing more than just another false prophet that had lead her astray. House was power-hungry and detested any real progress. As much as she wanted to believe that House as a decent person or… computer program, rather, she just had to merely look at the facts.

She knew what she had to do for the betterment of New Vegas.

She lazily waved at Victor with a forced smile as she passed the threshold of the casino. Per standard, Victor was to escort her the entire way. He lolled alongside her, his mechanics whirring and humming as they went. He hadn't said a word since he gave her his usual greeting, but she was fine with that. She was never able to trust Victor as far as she could throw him, even though he had been the one to rescue her from her desert grave.

It took her a while (longer than she'd like to admit) to realize that Victor had only saved her because she was a tool to be utilized by House… someone to play fetch and retrieve that damned Platinum Chip. And since House was rooted to the confines of the Lucky 38, he needed someone to do his dirty work. That someone just so happened to be the hundred pounds of titanium and wiring currently opening the lift doors for her.

Avery lingered at the opening for the elevator, eyeing the other Securitrons posted on either side of her. Would she really be able to pull this off quietly and without incurring the wrath of House's overgrown calculators? Calculators with Gatling lasers. She swallowed and stepped into the elevator.

The tiny box was eerily quiet, save for Victor's internal processors droning and the dull squeal of the elevator's bereft pulley system. She watched the small, weathered numbers above the elevator doors with growing anticipation. They passed the floor that harbored the hotel rooms gifted to her by House out of solidarity. She remembered the first night her and Boone slept in those grandiose rooms and felt a sad smile tug at her lips.

Just as she was beginning to reminisce about simpler times, the elevator dinged and she froze as the doors slid open.

"Home sweet home, eh?" Victor drawled behind her.

She almost jumped out of her skin at the sudden break in silence. Instead, she turned around and forced a laugh, "Yep!"

Victor's heavy titanium arm gestured for her to step out first and she obliged, her boots squeaking against the linoleum. He took his post next to the elevator and she walked towards the stairs, trying to ignore Jane's perky acknowledgment of her arrival. She just gave the robot call-girl a slight nod and continued down the stairs. As soon as she reached the bottom of the decline she rooted around her bag for her Stealth Boy. She gave a few quick glances to make sure she was out of sight from any of the Securitrons. Luckily, she was tucked away in a long-forgotten corner of the penthouse, hidden behind a rickety bookcase and fancy perched globe.

Her heart began to thump wildly against her ribcage as her index finger ghosted over the activation button for the Stealth Boy. This was risky. This was incredibly risky and oh, how was she _just now_ realizing how dangerous this was? With a trembling sigh she let her head fall against the wall behind her, the cool tile feeling nice against her scalp. Well, it was either do this now and save New Vegas or admit to The King and everyone else in Freeside that she wimped out… and by wimping out, she thereby surrendered New Vegas to this oligarch.

With one final, shaky breath, she pressed the activation button. There was a low whistle as the stealth field was activated around her. She dropped to a crouch and began to creep towards the small terminal located in the back of the penthouse. The journey was slow, torturously so. She snuck along the wall, making sure to pause every so often if one of the Securitrons began to grow suspicious.

Then she saw it, the terminal's flickering screen like a beacon in the darkness. Avery slowly shuffled out from beneath another staircase and stopped, realizing she was adjacent from House's projector. She stood for a moment and gazed up at the large, vacant screen where an image of his likeness often lingered. Then, with as much feeling as she could muster, she brought her invisible fingers to eye level and flipped him off. Sure, it was immature but damn did it feel good.

After a few moments she dropped back into a crouch and moved towards the terminal. She pressed the power button and the terminal blossomed open like a flower, its home screen displayed in dim green print. There was only one option: open the antechamber. She hit enter and was presented with a locked screen. She silently praised Yes Man for handing over the password and entered it into the console, watching as the wall dislodged with a hiss.

Uh oh, that was loud.

She stiffened and readied herself for alarms and sirens to blare, for Victor to appear around the corner with Gatling lasers blazing. But it never happened. She looked around curiously, watching as a few Securitrons wheeled by, clueless. She shrugged and moved forward into a hallway separate from the penthouse. There was another elevator, its rusty doors sealed tight, and a terminal similar to the one in the penthouse. Yes Man didn't say there'd be another terminal… did that mean that a separate password was necessary? She felt her stress levels spike.

The doors closed behind her and she paced over to the terminal. To her relief, it didn't require another password. _It must be synced up with the one in the penthouse,_ she thought idly. She hit enter and the elevator doors creaked open and she descended into the control room. As the elevator hummed to life, she felt her pulse quicken and her palms sweat.

The elevator skittered to a halt and she lurched forward from the force of it, trying to catch herself on anything as she fell. But the elevator doors had already opened and she found herself stumbling into a dim, silent chasm. She steadied herself and looked around, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Before her awaited a long, desolate steel pathway. It was lined with flimsy steel bars and faint orange bulbs. Above her was a maze of twisted pipes and walkways. By instinct, she began to move forward.

As she grew closer she was able to discern what awaited her at the end of the path. Large, complicated looking machines were stacked a few yards high and wide along the wall. There was a pod in the center of it all and it glowed gently in the stillness of the room. A few feet away was another terminal and she powered it on, watching the loading screen spark to life.

There was a singular option:

 _Unseal LS Chamber?_

She hit enter and another question popped up.

 _Warning! Microbial Infection Risk. Proceed?_

Her cursor hovered over that query and she paused.

This was it. Somewhere buried within that pod was House.

Was she ready? She swallowed and with an air of finality she hit enter.

The pod, once dormant, hissed to life as the locks dislodged from the outer casing. The lid rose and a billow of liquid nitrogen wept from its metal ossuary and lofted along the floor. A metal gurney catapulted from the pod and erected itself. The sight before her made her mouth go dry and her limbs suddenly felt cold. There, strapped to the gurney, was House. Or… what was left of him.

He resembled more of a ghoul than anything, his jaundiced skin pulled taught over his bones. His face was gaunt and his cheeks hollow, his eyes buried somewhere deep within their sockets. Long, wispy silver hairs sprouted from his head and cascaded in thin tendrils down his shoulders. His facial hair was wild and haggard, his mouth shielded behind centuries of unkempt tresses. He looked… horrible. Weak. Fragile. She felt that if she reached out and touched him that he would shatter into a thousand pieces. This was not a powerful oligarch, this was an emaciated shell of a human.

Despite herself, she felt pity for him.

House's body shook violently as his head rolled side to side, searching. She realized that, to him, she was still indiscernible behind a reflective shield. She deactivated the Stealth Boy and watched as his expression went from one of perplexity to raw, unabashed betrayal.

"Why have you… done… this? Centuries of preparation… so much good, undone…"

"It's just business," she lied easily, hoping her voice wouldn't betray the tremulous swirl of doubt in her chest. "It's over, House."

He took a painful, phlegm-laden breath, his voice guttural and rough from years of disuse. "If personal gain… what you sought… should've done… as asked."

Her hand trembled as she pressed the barrel of her .22 silenced pistol against House's temple. He shuddered and shook beneath her, his yellow-tinted eyes staring up at her with confusion and pain. She hesitated.

"How about," she started, her voice soft and affable as she spoke, her finger hovering over the trigger, "I let you live… but you won't be able to control anything?"

At this, he began to convulse violently. "No! Don't disable… cerebral… I'd rather be… killed," his distress was palpable as he struggled. "Kill…me…"

"See you on the other side."

She squeezed the trigger and watched as House's head snapped to the side from the force. Deep streams of crimson poured from his nose and mouth and spattered against the gurney. It oozed and bubbled as gases escaped his body, his final breath shuddering through his thin, shredded lips. His body went lax as he hung in place, his crow-like appendages dangling at his sides.

Without hesitation she tucked the gun into its holster and withdrew another Stealth Boy, trying to ignore the horrible guilt ripping her apart. She turned on her heel and jogged back to the elevator, eager to escape the casino as quickly as possible. Although she had succeeded, her day was far from over.

She had a date with a King.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey all! Hope I'm not losing you and that this isn't too confusing! It's going to rotate between Avery, Boone, and Joshua until my story climaxes [heh]. Also, I rationalized that the only way to ingest a powder properly would be to mix it with some kind of liquid. There is no mention in the game of Healing Powder being ingested like that but, hey, it makes sense to me. I mean... they could snort it or dilute it with water and do it intravenously, too.**

 **And just to add, this fic is not going to revolve entirely around babies and pregnancy but it is a crucial part of the story arc. I'm getting to it!**

 **Read and review please! :D**


	5. Can't Wait To Be King

**_Something's tearing me down_**  
 ** _And I can't help but feel it's coming from you_**  
 ** _She's a gunshot bride_**  
 ** _With a trigger cries_**  
 ** _I just wonder what we've gotten ourselves into_**

* * *

 **Chapter Five: Can't Wait To Be King**

* * *

The doors to the Lucky 38 flung open as she barreled into the street, her arms covering her head, trying to remain as low as possible. The dirt around her feet rose in thick clouds as she ran. She could hear the ricochet of gunfire around her and she watched in mild horror as a trash can next to her lurched from the force of being struck, it's aluminum shell rolling away from her. That was a close one.

She had made the mistake of leaving the hidden door to House's location open and after a few moments an alarm began to blare. Little did she know that a fail-safe had been installed to ensure House's safety, which meant that if any of the doors leading to the antechamber were open for longer than a set time, an alarm would alert the Securitrons. She should've expected House to possess something like that, but instead she just assumed she was in the clear.

Avery never claimed to be good at any of this.

Her heart thumped wildly and she swallowed, trying to avoid a Securitron who cut into her path. She was narrowly able to avoid colliding with the giant titanium nuisance and took a sharp left turn, hearing the whir of its Gatling lasers as it prepared to fire. A crowd of NCR soldiers huddled outside of Gomorrah, cheering and ogling at two ghoul criers and she dove into the crowd. Her stealth boy was still active but it had done little to hide her from the Securitron's sensors. If her knowledge of robotics was worth anything, then she knew that hiding her heat signature in a group was her only chance at getting out of this alive. Since her bio-signature was covered by the stealth boy, the Securitrons had to go off of heat. But now that she was surrounded by some particularly… _hot_ NCR soldiers, it should be enough to throw them off.

 _Should be_.

She threw a glance over her shoulder as she stood in the crowd, watching as Securitrons gathered at the mouth of the casino. Her breathing came in short spurts and she swallowed again, trying to bring moisture to her dry throat. A weight pushed down on her abdomen and she wheezed. It was hard to believe she was this out of shape. She made a mental note to retrain her endurance.

A few Securitron's rolled along the perimeter of the NCR group, the faces on their screens still flickering and aggressive. She watched the dancer's idly as a Securitron came within a few feet of her, its sensors humming as it scanned the crowd. There was a brief moment where the scanning was done but, apparently unhappy with the results, the Securitron began another scan. She heard a low hum as her stealth boy deactivated, her protective shield dissolving and retracting back into its case.

Her heart catapulted to her throat and she grimaced, trying to keep her heart rate down. The palms of her hands grew sweaty beneath her gloves and she fought the desire to rip them off.

The minute of scanning felt like hours and she shuffled from one foot to another, her leg bouncing impatiently as she waited, trying her hardest to avoid eye contact. Finally the second round of scanning was done and the Securitron stood, its demeanor changing from aggressive to neutral. She let out a relieved sigh as the regular, stern programmed face of the Securitron returned. She was genuinely surprised that hiding worked. House's Securitrons weren't as smart as she anticipated.

After a few moments the Securitron in question rolled away and back its post near the Lucky 38. She saw her moment to slip away and pushed her way out of the crowd, trying to ignore the boisterousness of the NCR crowd as she moved along. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her leather pants and threw a final glance over her shoulder, watching as Victor rolled aimlessly around the opening of the casino.

She shook her head and moved towards the gates.

When she reached Freeside the first thing she noticed was how quiet the area was.

It was still early morning, she reminded herself, but the stillness in the air was unfamiliar. Freeside had a penchant for being a chaotic mess, regardless of the time of day. Her first time visiting the slums of New Vegas, she had seen a gang of strung out residents jump a woman at nine in the morning. Avery had a compulsive desire to be the hero in any situation so she intervened, succinctly executing the thugs with her 10mm machine gun. The poor woman was bruised and bloodied and tried to offer Avery a handful of caps for saving her life, but Avery declined. It was ten caps and it was all the woman had to her name. It would be unjust to accept something like that from a person who had nothing, so she just gave the woman one of her many pistols and told her to be careful.

That was when she had met the King. After her original encounter with the downtrodden Freeside woman, Avery had done a lot to try and help the failing community. It was something she felt obligated to do, as she was never the one to see misfortune and misdeeds happen around her without taking action. King had been sending his goonies to track her down and hand over various presents—like stimpaks, radaway, and even bottle caps. She ended up donating a lot of those stimpaks to the Followers of the Apocalypse since they were in dire need of supplies. But after the fifth goony to hunt her down she decided to finally meet this mysterious King.

She was pulled from her reverie as she approached The King's center of operations, which had originally been a school of some sort before the war. A large, purple neon sign flickered in welcome as she advanced upon the building. Two King members were posted at either side and they waved her in without hesitation.

The building was lively as King members buzzed around the foyer, preparing for the day. The King's domicile doubled as a music venue, often drawing in weary travelers and soldiers from all across the wastes. The venue was always guarded by a rude greaser named Pacer, who tried to swindle her out of caps the first time she visited. Boone hadn't appreciated the guy's attitude and she had to jump in between the two before a brawl broke out. She smiled daftly at the memory of Boone's feathers being ruffled after Pacer had called him an "NCR dog."

She walked towards the back room and looked up and pursed her lips into a straight line. Speak of the devil.

"Well if it isn't our favorite little rabble rouser," Pacer said with a mischievous grin as he leaned against the doorframe. He raked a hand over his perfectly quaffed pompadour and let out a sigh. "To what do we owe the honor?"

"I need to speak with King," she responded evenly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Maybe the King don't want to see ya," Pacer responded easily.

"Cut the shit, you little weasel," she leisurely walked up to him so that she was only a foot away. She liked to invade the personal space of alpha males and often relished their uneasiness with her proximity. "Either you let me through or I kick your ass in front of all your little buddies."

Pacer let out a laugh and Avery bristled. She hated this guy.

"Well, don't threaten me with a good time, sweetheart," Pacer brought his hand up and pinched her cheek.

That was all it took. Avery felt white-hot rage burn in her chest and she pulled her arm back, balling her hand into a fist. She brought her fist down with all her strength and caught Pacer in the jaw. His head snapped backward and knocked against the drywall and he let out a yelp. She grabbed him by the collar and knotted her fingers through the denim of his gang uniform, holding him against the wall. Pacer stared down at her, his cerulean eyes wide, a large bruise already beginning to form along his jawline.

She brought her fist back to deliver another blow when she felt someone grab onto her arm, stopping her. Their fingers dug into the tender flesh of her wrist and she winced.

"Now, now, little lady," a smooth voice said behind her. "We don't want to be turnin' Pacer's brains into mush, now do we?"

Avery turned to meet the handsome face of The King and she faltered, feeling her muscles relax under his grasp. "His brains were mush before I slugged him."

At this, The King let out a chuckle. "I don't doubt that one bit. But… can you let him go?"

She turned her honey-colored eyes back to the greaser and released him with a sneer. He fell back against the wall with a grunt, staring daggers. The urge to punch him until he was physically unable to give her snotty looks like that was overwhelming, but she let her fist fall to her side. The King looped an arm around her shoulder and led her into the back room, and she glared at Pacer until he disappeared from view.

He steered her toward a table at the back of the venue. Most of the tables were barren from their usual setups, chairs flipped upside down on top of them, but one table was ready and set up in the corner. A lone greaser was sweeping the stage but save for him Avery and the King were alone. King pulled a chair out for her and she took it with muttered thanks. She expected him to join her but he wandered to the bar near the stage and began mixing drinks. It wasn't long before he rejoined her with a rocks glass in either hand, taking a seat adjacent from her.

He pushed the glass toward her with two fingers. "Where have you been?"

Avery picked the glass up and smelled the murky concoction, scrunching up her nose as the pungent scent of whiskey invaded her nostrils. "I took a vacation."

The King's features were ever impassive but a small frown tugged at his mouth, "A bit unusual and inconvenient, I must say. You were gone for quite some time, Avery. I was beginin' to wonder if you'd abandoned New Vegas for good."

"I would never," she said softly, sipping her drink. She grimaced. "I just needed a break from the stress of daily living. I had an opportunity and I took it, but I am sincerely sorry if I have inconvenienced you at all, King."

"You're back now," he said affably, resting a comforting hand atop hers. "That's all that matters."

She smiled despite herself. The King was charming and she was not above giving in to his wiles. He knew she was weak to his charms and he often used it to his advantage. Just because she allowed it to happen didn't mean she was ignorant to his manipulation, she just enjoyed the attention he gave her. Petty, maybe. But she wasn't about to stop.

"Can I ask why you're here at such an unusual hour?" He inquired, flashing her a smile. "Although, I'm not complainin' in the slightest."

This was it. This was her shining moment. She took in a deep, trembling breath. A delicate situation required some finesse and she contemplated on how exactly to give the King the news. She had to be eloquent, smooth, intelligent…

"House is dead," she deadpanned.

 _Okay… not as smooth as anticipated._

Those words, spoken so bluntly and without hesitancy, hung heavily in the air. She stirred her drink with her pinky only bringing it out to suck the unpleasant mixture from her appendage, staring at the man across from her intensely. His eyes, like two dark pools of onyx, were guarded and vapid as he stared. He blinked slowly, his hand clenching his glass an imperceptible amount. He knew what this meant, what bearing that simple statement had for the future of New Vegas. And so he stared in silent inquiry… or was that awe? Avery smirked slightly, the tip of her pinky running along the bottom of her lip.

"He's dead," he said back to her.

She could see the cogs turning, see a flash across his obsidian gaze. He brought a hand to his chin and rubbed his palm against his five o' clock shadow. His handsome face, which was usually guarded and enigmatic, was twisted with a mixture of unbidden emotion. A small frown formed between his knitted brows and he looked back to her.

"Do you know what this means?"

At this, Avery smiled, trying to ignore the guilt nestling deep within her core. "Of course."

"House is gone," he said again with a drawl. "New Vegas' freedom is so close that I can almost taste it, Ace."

She smiled at the use of his nickname for her. He always called her his Ace, his lucky card to play when things were going rough.

She was just relieved he didn't ask how she had carried out the deed. If she had to talk about sneaking into the casino and killing such a defenseless man, it would just reignite the remorse and turmoil she had felt earlier. His demise was necessary. She acknowledged that it had to happen, but she couldn't get the image of his distressed, pleading eyes and feeble body. It was like shooting a fish in a barrel… or something like that.

"I came straight to you," she rasped, trying to push away the memory of House in his final moments. "It happened only an hour ago and I thought you should be the first one to be notified. The news is bound to hit the streets by tonight, and I didn't want you to think of it as a rumor."

"Much obliged," King took a sip of his cocktail and leaned back in his chair, his eyes wandering to the stage.

He seemed a bit… troubled? Concerned? That was odd.

"Is everything all right, King?"

He turned his gaze back to her and she felt very small beneath it.

"I never thought this day would come. After years of plannin' and puttin' the wrong players on my team, I finally recruited the right one. You accomplished what many before you have not been able to, Ace. Freeside and The Kings are forever in your debt."

There was a pause as he stared at her.

"You are one of a kind," he added. "My Ace in the hole."

That was the proverbial nail in her coffin and she buried her face in her hands with a sigh. She felt heat prickle her cheeks as a blush spread across her features. Praise was not something she would ever grow accustom to.

"You know I don't do well with compliments," she said with an uneasy chuckle.

"Fair enough," he took another sip of his drink and set it down upon the table. "What's your next move? Have you any idea of what to do from here?"

She peeked through her fingers and gave a roguish shrug. "I have something in mind, but it's going to take a lot of work. And travel. It'll probably be a few months before New Vegas can officially be declared a free republic."

"Ace, if we are to work together I need to know what your next steps are going to be. I don't fancy vague answers or being kept in the dark," there was an edge to his voice that she didn't quite appreciate. "So tell me, what do you have in mind?"

She chewed on her bottom lip and threw the King a tempered look. King knew she didn't like being ordered around but she had to understand that it was part of his persona. He was the lynchpin of this weird little tribe and he had to keep up a front at all times. Who he was behind closed doors was not the person he was going to be during deliberations such as this. So she relented, pushing her ego aside and gave her drink another attempt. She brought the glass to her lips but the smell was enough to make her queasy and she set the glass back down in distaste.

"Do you remember Benny?"

"The leader of the Chairmen?"

She nodded simply. "Yep, the one and only."

"Hm. What about him?"

Avery pulled back the portion of her flaxen hair that covered her scar and gestured to it. "He's the one who shot me and gave me this lovely little scar. Seemed he was after the Platinum Chip, which was an item I was assigned to deliver. I was unaware as to what exactly I had been carrying until I arrived in New Vegas and met Mr. House."

He gave her a curious look and waited for her to continue.

"I won't go into heavy detail but, the Platinum Chip is what's going to help us gain New Vegas' freedom. It was why Benny was after it but, as I now know, he was after it for all the wrong reasons. After I killed him I recovered the chip from his body and skulked about his room in The Tops. And you'll never guess what I found."

"What?"

"The bastard had a hidden room with a personalized Securitron in it."

"He had one of House's robots," the King said slowly. "What an odd little man."

"Seriously," Avery ran her fingers through her hair, loosening it from its messy bun. "Well, this AI's name is Yes Man and he was eager to be the catalyst in gaining New Vegas' freedom. He's suggested that I travel to the local tribes and garner their support for an independent Vegas before proceeding."

"A very tactful suggestion on his part. The more support we have the better."

"Precisely. Support from the surrounding tribes would be our best option for succeeding in this endeavor. It would grant us superior man-power, which we'll need if we're going to take on Legion and the NCR."

"What else is required of you to bring this goal to fruition?"

She hummed and placed her index finger against her lips, "I have to download Yes Man's AI into House's mainframe. I would have done that after assassinating House, but the Securitrons were alerted to my presence and chased me out before I had the chance. When things cool down, I'll sneak back in and do that. And once Yes Man is in House's mainframe, he'll have control of all the Securitrons."

"And then...?"

" _Then_ ," she said with a hum, "after I've given Yes Man control over the Securitrons and garnered enough support from local tribes, my next stop would be The Fort."

"You're goin' to walk right into Caesar's camp?" He asked incredulously, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. "Ace, that's a death sentence."

"I know, I know. I just..." she trailed off.

She tugged at her bottom lip, remembering an encounter she had, had before leaving for Utah. A man had approached her outside of Gomorrah and requested her presence at The Fort. He had handed her a large, garish medallion with Caesar's likeness on it and said it was a free pass into the camp. She was to have an audience with the notorious Son of Mars. _Psh._

She knew the man who had approached her. Vulpes or something like that. He was the man who razed Nipton to the ground last year. She recalled encountering him for the first time at that location, a pyre of tires burning behind him like the ground had split and he had walked straight out of the flames of Hell.

She shook her head and realized that King had been waiting for her to answer.

"As much as I don't want to, yes. Caesar took hold of a bunker there that has some sort of massive weapon House stashed away centuries ago. Caesar would have used this weapon to take Hoover Dam and New Vegas a while back, but they need the Platinum Chip to open the inner workings of the bunker and activate the weapon."

She watched as King's expression changed as it all clicked. There was a tense silence as he stared at the tabletop, deep in thought. After a few moments he raised his gaze to her and placed his hand atop hers once more.

"You have my full support," his tone was amicable as his thumb grazed the side of her palm. "This is a lot to place upon the shoulders of one person, so I'm here to give you whatever help you need. The whole is only as good as the sum of its parts, after all."

Warmth encased her small figure as she sat there, staring at the man adjacent from her, an overwhelming feeling of unity nestled between her ribs. She turned her hand over and reciprocated his kind gesture, squeezing his hand back lightly.

"Do you want to come up…?"

Avery grinned sheepishly at the implication of his request. "I don't have time for _that_ today."

The King mirrored her rueful smile, "Understandable." His eyes wandered to her untouched glass. "Do you not like your drink? I remember whiskey and Nuka Cola bein' your favorite."

"Ah, I'm afraid not. Ever since I've returned from my vacation I haven't had the taste for liquor."

"I was going to ask you to at least stay and finish your drink," he grabbed her rocks glass and pulled it toward himself. "But I'll be nice and finish it for you."

" _Such_ a gentleman," she teased him as she stood. "I'll return with updates as they happen. You will not be left out of the loop, I assure you."

"Try not to assault Pacer on your way out," King smirked as he took a swig of her abandoned cocktail.

"No promises."

She went to leave but he stopped her, placing a hand upon her forearm. His touch was affectionate and light as his fingers burned holes into her skin, the mere touch of him alighting her nerves and setting them on fire. Obsidian met amber as he looked up at her, his expression open and warm.

"Come visit me sometime soon," he whispered, making sure what he said was for her ears only. "Don't be a stranger."

His voice did strange things to her insides.

Without responding she pulled her arm away and gave him a playful slap on the shoulder. She turned on her heel and paced toward the exit. She passed the doorway into the foyer and felt Pacer's dark, lingering presence at her side, his spiteful glare boring holes into the back of her head. Avery avoided giving him any attention because she couldn't promise she'd abstain from violence if he provoked her. And with Pacer, just a scoff was enough to send her barreling into him at full force.

She stepped into the Wasteland sun and headed toward the Atomic Wrangler. By now it was around early noon and the sun was high in the sky, scorching the dead earth with its rays. A light breeze hit her although it didn't do much to help, as the breeze itself was probably ninety degrees.

The heat from the King's touch still lingered and she rubbed her arm idly. Before she left for Utah, she had traipsed through the sheets with King more than a few times. As she had said, she wasn't above giving in to him, and damn it… he was fantastic in the sack, their little liaisons sometimes lasting for hours at a time. But things had changed since she left Zion. The thought of sleeping with another man or woman didn't sit right with her. All she could think about was Joshua and, despite herself, she felt a kind of loyalty to him. Sleeping with the King would almost feel like being unfaithful which was ridiculous in and of itself. She wasn't Joshua's and there was no exclusivity between them. So why did she feel this way?

A sigh escaped her lips as she meandered back to her hotel room.

First things first, she needed a goddamn nap. And some snack cakes.

* * *

"Maybe she's moved since the last time you two spoke. Maybe… maybe she's not in New Vegas anymore."

Boone buried his head in his hands as he sat at the very edge of his mattress, his boots digging into the matted carpet of his hotel room. His familiar red beret sat forlornly on the nightstand and he eyed it wearily, remembering the spare beret he had given to Avery last year. She looked good in red, even if she wouldn't admit it.

"And even if they do find her, she's strong. I mean… you've even said she's been able to take out entire groups of Legionary soldiers by herself before. It's not too far-fetched to hope that she could do it this time, too."

Manny's incessant droning was starting to grate on Boone's nerves. But Boone was feeling drained and had no desire, nor the energy, to respond to his companion's rambling.

The deactivated collar was still far across the room, somewhere between his desk and his dresser, the weathered metal glinting in the rays of sunlight that filtered through the blinds. How had he forgotten that slave collars often possessed speakers? How did he lack the foresight to keep his mouth closed about Avery's location? He groaned and rubbed his hands over his eyes.

He was an idiot.

Anyone with half a brain would be able to see that if the Legion ambushes you, leaves a collar on you after deciding not to kill you, that maybe- _just maybe_ the collar held some deeper purpose. Frumentarii were far too smart and tactful to leave a collar on some ex-NCR soldier and expect him to just lead them to a target. The collar had a particular motive and it was so simple… it was so fucking easy to see and he was just too dumb to comprehend the implications.

And why were they after her? Aside from the obvious reasons, of course. The Legion had been sending assassins to ambush her over the past year and none had been successful. It was likely that they were sending the professionals after her now… but it was definitely odd they hadn't done that sooner. And they brought of the Legate or whatever his name was. Boone's eyebrows furrowed. They called her his whore. He couldn't get that out of his mind. Had she somehow aligned herself with this ex-Legionary? But that wouldn't make sense. Avery would never betray her morals. Or betray Boone.

Besides, the Legate was supposed to be dead, wasn't he?

"Are you even listening to me, Boone?"

Boone looked to his friend, "No."

Manny waved his arms in exasperation. "I'm just trying to help you."

"I don't need your help," Boone snapped. "I just need to get to Avery."

"Asshole." Manny muttered as he took a lazy seat against the dresser. "Well, they already know where she is so you heading there won't put her in any _more_ danger."

"Do you ever shut up?"

"Nope," Manny said smugly.

Boone brought his finger to his mouth and began to gnaw at his cuticle.

"Hey, man. Don't worry yourself sick," his companion rubbed a hand over his scalp. "She's in New Vegas surrounded by NCR soldiers and strung out gangs. If they ambush her there, she has back up."

"Manny, do you not remember _anything_ about Legion tactics?" Boone shot to his feet in frustration. "If they wanted to track her down, then they probably sent the experts, okay? Frumen- _fucking_ -tarii. Those bastards are masters of stealth. It doesn't matter if she's surrounded by five or ten or twenty people, they will get to her. They'll find a way."

Manny's face fell. "If that's true, then what help do you think you're going to be?"

Boone staggered back a step, as if Manny had struck him across the face. He grit his jaw as he stood and crossed his arms over his chest. Manny was an annoying, self-centered nuisance but… he was right. He couldn't be any help to her. All he'd ever done was drag her down, how was this situation any different? He'd probably just hinder her chances of survival. But he also couldn't sit and waste away in his dark hotel room, just hoping that one day he'd find out what happened to her.

 _Fuck_.

The tension between himself and Manny was palpable. It was hard for him to breathe and he clasped his arms above his head, taking in a deep, shuddering breath.

"Does this courier really mean so much to you?"

Boone's eyes drifted slowly to Manny, his face impassive. "How can you even ask that?"

"Craig…"

"No," he interjected, effectively cutting Manny off. "No, Manny. Avery… she's my partner. We've been through Hell and back. She was the only one to try and… help me."

Manny seemed to sulk at this response, his gaze falling to the floor. "I've tried to help you too, Craig. I always have."

"It's not the same," Boone said, barely above a whisper. "It's just not the same, Manny."

The former Great Khan just shook his head solemnly. "You're a dense, egotistical man. Melodramatic, too."

"Not helping."

Manny pinched the bridge of his nose. "So… what are you going to do?"

Boone shrugged and looked at his friend like that was the single, dumbest question to ever be posed in the history of humanity.

"I'm going to find her."

* * *

 **A/N: Hey all! Thanks for reading another chapter. Fun fact: did you know that in-game, Boone has the second lowest intelligence stat- on par with Lily and just a tad smarter than Rex? Also, that stuff about Securitrons and heat/bio signatures was something I came up with and might not necessarily be true.**

 **Also, my courier has the Black Widow perk so she's had quite a lot of fun in the wastes, if you know what I mean ;) I'd hop on the chance to be with the King too, but I mean... that might just be me.**

 **To CoolCat: You know, I've seen House taken out like that but I've never been able to succeed in that endeavor. I just thought it was a simple solution for this story!**

 **R &R please! **


	6. She Don't Care

_It's easy to make promises_  
 _While you're dumb in love_  
 _Watch them all evaporate_  
 _Because she's had enough_

* * *

 **Chapter Six: "She Don't Care"**

* * *

 **Two weeks prior  
Zion Canyon  
**

Avery sat against the trunk of a Douglas fir, its elongated branches stretching outward towards the canyon, providing ample shade from the Utah sun. Beads of sweat formed at her temples and slid down her cheeks, leaving small trails of moisture as they went. She hastily wiped away at the sweat with the back of her hand, reaching for her water canteen at her hip. The mouth of the bottle reached her lips and the cold, fresh liquid slid down her throat and into her stomach. She relished the taste of the clean Spring Waters in Zion. They were free of radiation and the taste was far different than any water she had ever experienced before.

Not to mention, it was rare to drink ample amounts of water and not get sick. At least, that's how it was in the Mojave. Clean water was a scarcity where she was from, so she often resorted to drinking water with high radiation levels. And even on extremely hot days, when her thirst was incredibly high, she found no respite from her murky bottled water. More often than not, she'd get increasingly nauseous the more water she ingested, sometimes even vomiting afterward. That was counter intuitive and exacerbated her dehydration. But not the water here.

She wiped her palms against the leather of her trousers, willing away the sweat. Upon her lap sat a unique instrument, one that the Dead Horses had introduced her to a month or so back. It was considered a fiddle, but bore no resemblance to any modern Western fiddle she had encountered.

It was constructed from a hallowed vegetal stalk. This one in particular was agave, she noted. The vegetal stalk, after being hallowed, was carved into three articulated sections. It had only one string and was held together with sinew wrappings and metal spikes, notable things that had been scavenged from abandoned pre-war buildings. Rhomboid sound holes and green pigmented bands adorned the surface, the bands serving as grooves for the sinew wrappings. Follows Chalk had called it _tsii'' edo'a'tl_ , or "wood singing." Instead of plucking the string with a pick, it was played with a small bow-like structure, much akin to a violin.

Although it only had one string, she was able to find that it had a beautiful range. She had always been a bit of a virtuoso when it came to stringed instruments and found a harmony with the instrument not long after it was handed to her. Since then, she and the fiddle had been inseparable.

She brought the bow up to the strings and drew a long note, her fingers skillfully working to find the right note. After a few more tries she hit the note she had been hoping for and let out a soft hum of satisfaction. Since only the shaman of the Dead Horses knew any songs, and he was unable to find time to teacher any, she was left to her own devices. It was easy for her to pick up songs by ear and she had been fruitlessly trying to recreate the ceremony song the shaman had played upon her arrival to Zion.

"That tune sounds quite familiar."

Avery halted her playing and looked up to see the figure of Daniel. He had a bag lazily hung over his shoulder, the brim of his rattan cowboy hat pulled down low to shade his face from the sun.

"Do you know this song?"

"Of course," a small smile played on his lips as he watched her intently. "That's Om Numah Shivaya, an old Apache folk song."

She felt a small amount of fulfillment at the revelation. Finally there was a name to put to the tune that had been stuck in her head for days.

"I've been trying to figure out the entire song," she said easily as she lowered the bow, letting it fall against her crossed legs. "I have the beginning down, but then I hit a wall and can't quite remember where to go from there."

"You should ask Hawk Singing to teach you the rest. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to finally have someone interested in learning the songs of his ancestors."

"I've tried," she let her head fall against the trunk of the tree. She stared up at the branches of the fir as she spoke, "He's always too busy."

"Nonsense," Daniel laughed lightly as he moved over to where she sat, standing only a few feet away. "Aside from making poultices and blessing scouts before they travel into the canyon, all he does is sleep. Surely, he has time to teach you one song."

"Oh trust me, I've tried. That old man is just far too…" she trailed off for a moment, trying to find the right word. "Slothful."

"Well, there is one other person who can teach you."

Avery looked up expectantly, quirking a blonde brow as she waited.

"Graham plays a mean Apache fiddle. I'm sure if you asked him-"

"We aren't, uh, speaking at the moment," she interjected, cutting Daniel off.

"Oh?" Daniel took a seat next to her, crossing his legs and tossing his bag near the roots of the fir. "And why is that?"

She threw a pensive glance at her Mormon friend, "Like he didn't tell you already."

Daniel cleared his throat. "Graham and I don't exactly… talk, like you think we do."

"But you're friends."

"Yes, but even then, Graham is an intensely private person. Any qualms or troubles that he might possess take days of prodding and annoying him before he speaks a word of it."

Avery ran a hand over her face with a groan. "Then I guess it would be inappropriate to talk to you about it now, knowing the Joshua wouldn't want me to open up about it until he was comfortable."

"I suppose not," Daniel replied easily, clasping his hands across his lap. "But you know… this does explain why he was brooding before I left."

"He was brooding, huh?" She couldn't help the smirk that pulled at her lips. It was a nice feeling to know that he was genuinely upset after their squabble, even if it was a bit childish of her to admit it.

"Terribly so," Daniel pulled his hat from his head and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "I haven't seen him pout like that in a long time. Not since he and I originally disagreed with how to approach the White Legs situation."

Her smile spread, swallowing up her features, as she pictured Joshua childishly moping in the corner of Angel Cave. Somehow, that image eased a fraction of her frustration with that stubborn ex-Legionary.

"Why are you smiling?"

She snickered ruefully. "I'm picturing Joshua sulking in a dark cave and it's actually pretty funny."

Daniel watched her curiously as she broke into a small fit of giggles. She raked a finger through her damp, unkempt golden tresses and exhaled after she calmed down bit. Once her amusement faded, the reality of her situation crashed down around once more. Joshua was mad. Specifically, Joshua was mad at _her_. What could she do? There was nothing to ease the situation, at least nothing plausible. Her only choice was to…

"Daniel… Avery."

They both looked up as someone called to them from the distance. At once, Avery's limbs went cold and she swallowed, annoyed at the lump that began to form in her throat. It was Joshua.

"Hoi, Graham. What brings you here?"

Avery watched as Joshua crossed his arms over his chest, his stance rigid and tense as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He refused to look at her, choosing to stare directly at Daniel, his eyes narrowed and squinting as he did so.

"I could ask the same."

"I was out gathering provisions," Daniel pointed to the bag against the trunk of the fir. "The fish are biting like crazy today and I was able to catch quite a few."

"If I may have a few moments with the courier," Joshua's said suddenly, his voice even but there was an edge to his words, " _please_."

Wordlessly, Daniel collected his things and stood. He went to put his hat upon his head and paused, giving Avery a slight, apologetic smile. She knew he was being empathetic towards the troubling situation she was about to find herself in and she nodded, appreciative. Daniel muttered a quick goodbye to Joshua as he disappeared over the edge of the canyon, sliding along one of the many trails that lead to the tribal camps. She watched the top of his cowboy hat vanish with growing anxiety.

Joshua remained planted to the earth, like a totem, radiating waves of distress. He was fuming. It was unpleasant and she repositioned herself against the trunk of the fir, letting her head fall against the bark once more. Her eyes slid closed and she inhaled deeply, trying to control the racing of her heart. He was silent, dreadfully so. All she could hear was the distant thrum of the river beneath the canyon's edge and, more irritatingly, Joshua's breathing. Although he said nothing, she could tell he was just as fretful as she was. It was odd how she could have this kind of effect on a notoriously blood-thirsty ex-Legionary- a man who used to execute hundreds without batting an eye.

"Avery…"

She clenched her eyes, refusing them to open.

"Avery, please," he said slowly, taking a step forward.

At this she opened her eyes, tremulously dragging her gaze from the branches of the fir and down to brooding man before her. He was still tense, his shoulders stiff and his arms remaining wrapped in front of him. He was guarded and closed off.

"What?"

"We need to talk."

She scoffed, her tone heavy with derision. "We've already talked, Joshua."

"We need to talk _again_."

Avery couldn't stop the groan that escaped her and she pulled the fiddle from her lap, propping it up against the tree. "What could possibly change from this talk that did not change from the one prior?"

At this he seemed to pause, a contemplative silence surrounding them both.

"I want you to stay."

She froze. "What?"

"I want you to stay… here, in Zion," he stopped for a moment only to add, "with me."

"Joshua…" her voice died in her throat, words failing her.

Her jaw hung loosely as she gaped at him, completely at a loss. He was asking her to leave behind everything, to abandon any and all prior obligations and to… what? Live out the remainder of her days amongst the tribal colonies? Her mouth went dry as she stared. She'd be lying if she said that the idea of doing so wasn't enticing.

Joshua took another step forward, his arms falling to his sides limply. "You could have a permanent residence here. You could… leave behind all that troubles you in the Mojave and live here, in peace."

"Joshua…" she repeated, but he continued despite her interjection.

"Think of the life you could have here," his raspy voice lulled her anger and put it to rest, but her anger was quickly replaced with immense sorrow and regret. "Imagine the life _we_ could have."

She breathed in his words and they settled somewhere between her ribs. She felt like someone had punched her in the stomach and her intestines squirmed, her breath escaping her in subtle wheeze. Avery's head dropped, her chin nearly touching her chest, and she bowed beneath the weight of her grief. She couldn't bear to look at him. She couldn't stand to look at a man she had only known for three months, a man that she managed to foolishly, immaturely fall head over heels for.

Joshua was convincing. Manipulative. Her first time meeting him was like stepping into church, and each word that left his mouth was skillfully crafted, his sentences sewn together eloquently like poetry. The timbre of his voice was low and so enthralling, that she found herself easily enraptured when he spoke. It was no wonder that this man was able to command armies. He was passionate and serious, with a sort of animalistic blood thirst that had her writhing in fright and, as much to her vexation, _admiration_ as well. All she needed to align her support with Joshua during the White Legs calamity was to listen, only for a moment, to his diatribe- the way he spoke madly, his voice dripping thickly with vitriol. It was enough for her, and she was on board without hesitation.

He had used that same unruly, unbidden passion to pry her open, to peer through her cracks and force his way in. Every alcove of her soul was tarnished and singed by his touch. She had let him in at her weakest moments and it ruined her but, by the looks of it, the feeling was mutual. Avery was about to dislocate herself from him, like a joint would a socket, and hang limply at his side… useless, painful. A reminder of something that once used to work but no longer could, unless agonizing measures were taken.

But she wouldn't relent… she couldn't. She needed to hold firm in her promises to the people of New Vegas. They'd sworn fealty to her cause. They believed that she could actually gain New Vegas its freedom. The believed in _her._

Yet, here she was, so easily swayed by one man. Her resolve was fracturing beneath the weight of it all and she worried that it would shatter at any moment. That _she_ would burst into a thousand tiny pieces and disappear into the Utah soil.

Then she felt it; the heat of his touch as he snaked his hand beneath her chin, tilting her face upward to meet his. His eyes, like two shards of broken glass, cut into her and she trembled. Although his face was hidden beneath bandages, she could see the sadness in his cerulean orbs and the way his eyes seemed to crinkle at the edges. His face needn't be bare for her to understand him. And she gave in to him all over again, her body aching for him like nourishment.

"Why are you doing this to me?" She struggled to get the words out, her bottom lip quivering as she tried to reign in her emotions.

The pad of his bandaged thumb grazed along her bottom lip, as if that alone was enough to stop her trembling. "I do not understand."

"You _know_ I can't stay," her voice came out shrill, cracking as she struggled for control. "From the beginning you knew that my stay was temporary, that I had a life prior to this," she was steadily gaining volume. "You are asking me to stay and you know I can't… why? Why do you have to do this?"

At one time, Joshua would refuse to discuss anything beyond the parameters of her missions. Sure, he'd quote the bible here and there, being oddly enigmatic and simultaneously prophetic, but never did their conversations dwell beyond anything impersonal. Of course, all of this was in between his phases of vengeance, where his inner zealot would emerge and she'd be drawn in, like a comet too close to orbit.

But things had changed.

It was a slow progression but she had started noticing small things here and there. He'd started to open up to her, telling her seemingly small, insignificant stories from his life. One had been a short tale about his father, where Joshua mentioned something about the bible he carried around with him. She had learned that the bible had been gifted to him on his sixteenth birthday, and it had been an heirloom passed down through his family for generations.

There was a sort of ambiguous, supernatural charm about Joshua and she flocked to it, like a Cazador to a flame. It didn't take long for them to fall together and it didn't help that she imprudently encouraged whatever relationship they possessed. It started with small touches here and there; a hand on the hip or a lingering graze when they handed something to one another. Before she realized what was happening, their interactions evolved into a flurry of roaming hands and a horrible, unquenchable _need_. No matter how much she had of him, she would never get her fill. It was enamoring and beguiling and if she were away from his longer than a day her body would go into withdrawal.

And no matter how hard she tried to circumvent… she continually crashed back into him, time and time again.

"Avery, you _can_ stay. There is a place here for you amongst the Dead Horses. We have ample resources readily available and plenty of room for-"

Joshua's voice dragged her from her daze and she shook her head.

"Stop," she cried, trying to pull away from him. "Just… stop."

Tears welled at the brim of her eyes and she blinked, hoping to will them away. It was hopeless. A tear slipped free and rolled down her cheekbone, cutting a path through the dust and grime that coated her skin. He brought his free hand up to her face and cupped her cheek, gently wiping away at the descending moisture. Despite herself, she leaned in to his palm.

"I hate this," she said simply, staring up at him through her blurred vision. "I hate _you_."

"Do you, now?" He asked, seemingly bemused.

"Yes," she replied firmly. She wanted to get as far away from him as possible, but his touch was intoxicating and she couldn't move. "I wish I'd never met you, Joshua."

Joshua just looked at her, an indistinguishable emotion flickering across his eyes. They narrowed an imperceptible amount as he broke their gaze, his attention drifting from her eyes and down to her lips. She knew that look. She inhaled a trembling breath, bracing herself for what was going to happen next.

Softly, his bandaged lips pressed against hers, so chaste and innocent that she wasn't sure if it was really happening. He pulled back a moment, judging her reaction, before kissing her more fully on the mouth. She melted into him, bringing a hand up to cradle the back of his neck, the other gently grasping onto his bulletproof vest. God, she wanted to pull away, to bring her hand back and slap him hard across the face. The nerve of him, thinking he could kiss her into remission. And yet… here she was, giving in to him like she always did. Her stomach dropped out beneath her as her heart fluttered behind her ribs, an inebriating warmth spreading through each limb and alighting her nerves.

After a few moments they pulled away from one another, breathless.

She licked her lips and exhaled a shaky breath. "I really can't stay, Joshua. My loyalty lies with New Vegas and its people. They need me."

There was a heavy pause between them before he spoke, his voice so hushed and discreet that she could barely hear him over her rapid breathing. "And… what if I…"

His words died in his throat and she watched as he closed his eyes tightly, letting out a slow, rumbling breath. Joshua was never good with words but that's why they seemed to work. Avery always did enough talking for the both of them.

"… need me?" She hesitantly completed his sentence.

All Joshua could manage was a slight nod and his eyes slid open slowly. The muscles around his eyes seemed tight as he focused at a spot on her neck, his brows furrowing.

"Yes," he ground out, almost inaudible.

She let herself fall limply against his hold, her hand sliding from the back of his neck only to fall listlessly into her lap. There was a sort of break in her, a snap in her brain that caused her to shut down. This man just openly admitted that he _needed_ her- here, with him. Joshua Graham was a fiercely independent, sometimes misanthropic, person. He didn't need her, he _wanted_ her and those were two very different emotions.

"I…" she started, raspy and wavering. She felt her words evaporate, her mouth opening and closing over and over again like a fish on dry land. Then she deflated, "What we want, what I want is irrelevant."

The distress was apparent in the exposed part of Joshua's face and he visibly recoiled, although his hands remained transfixed upon her face. He tilted his head slightly before rasping out: "Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy as unyielding as the grave. It burns like a blazing fire, like a—"

"Mighty flame," she finished his sentence once more. Joshua turned to scripture when he was at a loss, and she was often left trying to decode his message, hidden deep within the passage. This one was a verse he said to her often, but never had it been more relevant.

Avery was not spiritual nor was she religious. She could never bring it upon herself to believe in such things, but she admired Joshua's faith. She adored when he would quote bible verses from the top of his head and speak it to her, as if it were a ballad. It was his way of connecting and she learned quickly how to speak in his vernacular.

His grip on her face seemed to tighten as his gaze bore into her. "Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot wash it away."

Another errant tear streamed down her cheeks, and others soon followed as she sniffled. "If one were to give all the wealth of his house for love, it would be utterly scorned."

His fingers went lax and she felt the pressure relieve from her jaw. Joshua lowered himself from his crouching position and down onto the earth, crossing his legs, mimicking Avery. He repositioned himself, scooting forward a bit until their knees touched. Slowly, apprehensively, he brought his face closer, pressing his forehead against hers. Her fingers found their way to his vest and dug into the worn material, hating the way his body felt so rigid beneath her hands.

"Is this something that you feel you must do, in your heart? In the very fiber of your soul?"

Her chest shook with a suppressed sob. "I'm afraid so," she whispered, her voice small and so weak that she could barely discern it as her own. "This is something I have to do, no matter how badly I want to ignore it."

Joshua pulled away and planted a feather light kiss upon her nose. His blatant displays of affection were strange, as Joshua was rarely the one to ever touch her first. She was always the one to initiate; but she was thankful for his close proximity and the comfort of his touch. Soon she would be gone and never again would she be able to relish the feel of his body against hers and the soothing lull of his smoke-ravaged voice. Maybe he understood the finality of their predicament and pushed aside his discomfort with physical affection, if only to enjoy her presence for the last time.

"When do you leave?" His voice was low as he spoke, his breath fanning against her cheeks.

"Tomorrow morning."

"No," he started adamantly. "Tomorrow we are going to get our first of the Monsoon rains. It'd be wise for you wait out the initial storm, as traveling through the flash floods can be quite dangerous."

"Okay," she agreed. "Okay, I'll wait."

He seemed to relax a bit. "Come, let us head back to camp. I'm sure Daniel is waiting for us to return, as we still have much to discuss."

"Can we… stay here for just a moment longer?"

He made a small sound from the back of his throat, mulling over her request. After a moment he shrugged, "We can stay for as long as you wish."

A dejected smile pulled at her mouth and she sighed deeply as Joshua wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and inhaled deeply, relishing his scent. Often he smelled of holy oils and spices, like patchouli or rosemary. It was an odd mixture but it was befitting of him, and it often lingered in her hair in her clothing. Not that it bothered her. She could feel the beat of his heart as her temple pressed against his jugular, it's rhythmic pounding a sort of catharsis as she focused on it. One of his hand rubbed comforting circles between her shoulder blades and the other came up to gently cradle the back of her head, and she could feel Joshua's muscles slacken. They were quiet for a long while as they sat there, unsure of how many minutes had passed, but neither of them seemed eager to leave.

She nuzzled her cheek against his vest with a contented hum.

She was definitely going to miss this.

* * *

"He has become weak."

Vulpes set aside his binoculars to throw a furtive glance at the Legionary recruit behind him. He sneered at his younger counterpart, letting out a low hiss, before turning his attention back to the valley below them. The couple came into view as he focused the lenses, watching as they embraced beneath the foliaged branches of a Utah fir. It disgusted him. So far this man had fallen. Whereas he once was a powerful, commanding tyrant he was now a weak, pitiful shell of a man. Vulpes was almost ashamed to admit that this was the former Malpais Legate, a man so rancorous and cutthroat that Caesar had him appointed as the second in command.

"Who is his whore?" The recruit thought aloud.

"Desist your incessant droning, recruit."

He focused on the pair, watched them as they embraced, as much to his apparent disgust. Such a frail human, the Malpais was. Falling for a woman, espousing her as an equal. Not but a moment before he could hear them squabbling. The Malpais had held his ground, like a man should when dealing with the weaker sex, but the moment she turned to her wretched display of emotion, sobbing into the dirt… he gave in. He held her in his arms like a mother and her babe.

The flames of Legion vengeance must have damaged the Malpais' brain more than Vulpes anticipated.

Despite trying to hone in, his superior hearing picking up fragments of their conversation, he was unable to decipher who this woman was. Then she stood, stepping away from the shadow of the fir tree, her face exposed by the rays of the afternoon sun. Then it dawned on him, realization smacking him so hard that he almost dropped his binoculars. He knew who she was. This was the Courier, the one whom he had intercepted at Nipton.

"Ah," he said triumphantly. "It's the courier."

What was once a recon mission had now evolved in to something greater. Caesar had heard of the destruction of the White Legs, so he sent the Frumentarii out to Zion Canyon in order to better understand what had happened. Vulpes had known of the existence of the Malpais Legate, or the "Burned Man" as the locals called him, for some time now. As did Caesar. And even though Caesar was aware that the decimation of the White Legs was solely upon the shoulders of his ex-second-in-command, he wanted verification. But _this_ … this was far more than Vulpes had bargained for.

"The courier?"

"Yes, the one who's been causing all that trouble in New Vegas," he said aloofly, watching as the Malpais and the courier began to walk towards the edge of the precipice. "Damn that profligate whore. I should have slit her throat when I had the chance."

He thought of that young, frightened girl who had entered Nipton, her rusted hunting rifle in hand. The pathetic creature had been shaking so badly that she could barely hold her weapon at attention. Killing her then would have been too easy. And he would have invoked the wrath of Caesar in doing so. Apparently, his leader saw a potential in that little girl. But maybe it was a mistake in letting her go, in giving her a chance to see the superior ways of the Legion and allowing her to leave unscathed. She had caused so much discord since that fateful day a year ago. He'd had a second chance to rid her of her pitiful existence, intercepting her outside one of the casinos in New Vegas. But at that time, Caesar had requested an audience with her and Vulpes wasn't allowed to so much as lay a finger on her.

How boring.

And now she was conspiring with the Malpais Legate. What were her intentions? Garnering support for some pathetic army? Hm. His lip twitched as he watched the pair completely disappear and he set down his binoculars. That damned Courier was up to something, and _he'd_ be damned if he didn't uncover her objectives. And quickly, lest she be left up to her own devices and cause even more discordance.

A recruit crouched next to Vulpes and pulled his goggles from his face, letting them hang loosely around his neck. "Should we report back to Caesar?"

Vulpes was silent for a moment. "Hm… yes, that would be the appropriate course of action now, wouldn't it? Well, recruit, how about I send you back with a message for our praefector?"

The recruit nodded simply, awaiting for his commands.

"Tell Caesar of our discovery today. Let him know that the Malpais Legate and the courier are… colluding with one another."

"And what of you?"

Vulpes turned to his younger counterpart, "Tell Caesar I am going to track the Courier. It is our best chance at uncovering the truth behind her actions."

"And once you uncover the truth? What will happen then?"

Vulpes shrugged as he stood, turning to look out at the canyon with a listless glare, "If necessary, we kill her. Simple as that."

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you SO MUCH for the awesome reviews! I am so very appreciative that people are reading this and you're all giving me feedback! FANTASTIC.**

 **Okay, so, I'll take this time to answer some of my reviews:**

 **D0hnuts:** Yep! Avery has the Black Widow perk, which I kind of hinted to in another chapter (where she mentioned sleeping with and killing Benny). I'd like to think that her and the King are good friends, and that casual sex between the two of them just seemed like the natural order of things. I mean, it makes sense to me!

 **SuitandThai:** Here is some Graham for ya! I thought writing a chapter about their past would be a nice filler.

 **Guests:** Thank you for the "MOAAAR" comment, it was an esteem booster! And also, to the other guest, thank you for complimenting my writing! I've been battling writer's block for a while and this story was huge improvement from my last few fic attempts.

 **Now, I'm sorry if Graham seemed a bit AU here. I'd like to think that he'd be a bit of a different person around Avery than he would be around, oh, say people like Daniel and Follows Chalk. He'd probably be a tad more affectionate, as well. Anyways, thanks again, please R &R! **


	7. One For My Baby

Sorry for the long wait! I've been working a lot and I've had trouble in finding time to write this chapter. Anyways, enjoy! Thanks for reading!

* * *

 _It's quarter to three, there's no one in the place except you and me_  
 _So, set 'em up, Joe, I got a little story you oughta know_  
 _We're drinkin', my friend, to the end of a brief episode_  
 _Make it one for my baby and one more for the road_

* * *

 **Chapter Seven: "One For My Baby"**

* * *

"No fucking way! You have _got_ to be shitting me."

"Nope."

"You _killed_ House?"

"Hey, keep your voice down!"

"Sorry," Cass said as she licked her lips, combing her fingers through her auburn hair. "I just… I can't believe you did it. You actually fucking did it."

Avery smiled a bit at this, bringing her bottle sarsaparilla to her lips and taking a swig. "I told you it was going to be good, didn't I?"

"But not _this_ good!" Cass' pulled a handful of caps out of her pocket. She slapped them on the counter and gestured towards James, "I want a bottle of your finest whiskey for me and Avery."

"Oh, no, Cass. I'm going to pass on the alcohol," Avery said, placing her palm against her chest. "I'm not feeling too well."

Cass' brows furrowed as she stared at Avery in perplexity. "Why? What's wrong?"

"I've been pretty nauseous for the past few weeks. I think I'm just stressed," she swallowed. "It's been so bad that I haven't been able to hold down anything, except soda. And after a while, this sarsaparilla starts to taste pretty gross, too."

"Is it constant nausea or…?"

"It's at its worst during the daytime, and being in the heat doesn't help. But it seems to ease up during the evening, just enough to let me fall asleep."

"Ah, I know what your problem is."

Avery raised her eyebrows expectantly. "What is it?"

"You haven't been drinking enough," Cass said simply. "Besides, it's night time! Nothing will cure that remaining nausea like a good ol' glass of whiskey."

"Your logic is infallible," Avery responded sardonically. "Not every problem can be solved with alcohol."

"Says you," Cass sniffed. "It's solved all of mine."

"Now that's total bullshit and you know it. Remember when I found you in the Mojave Outpost, crying into your rocks glass, piss drunk in the middle of the day?"

"I don't recall…"

"Hm, is your memory going?" Avery sniggered. "Another thing that alcohol _won't_ fix."

"Shut up," Cass said quickly.

Avery was about to continue their squabble when a bottle of whiskey was thrust between them. James had finally procured a flagon of aged liquor from the back, and he set it on the counter between Avery and Cass, along with two glasses. Cass grabbed the bottle and brushed away a thin layer of dust, seemingly admiring the label, before pouring herself some. After a moment of deliberation, Cass threw an innocent look towards Avery, lifting the whiskey up and wiggling it in an enticing manner.

"No," Avery said in a stern tone, pushing her empty glass out of Cass' reach. "Stop trying to peer pressure me, you whiskey slut."

"Whiskey slut," Cass parroted as she took a swill of her drink. "That has a nice ring to it, eh?"

Avery couldn't contain the bubble of laughter that rose in her chest. "You _would_ like that."

James circled around once more, coming to a stop in front of Cass, his hands clasped behind his back. "How's the taste, Cass? Good as usual?"

"Oh, yes. You can never go wrong with Maker's."

"You're the only one who enjoys that whiskey, so I keep an abundant supply around. You're single-handedly keeping me and Francine in business with all the caps you spend on that stuff," he thumbed behind him towards his sister, who gave a leisurely wave.

"Har-har," Cass said sarcastically. "I'm feeling a bit hungry, James. I'll have the usual and Avery will have…" she gestured to Avery with an expectant look.

Avery put her hands up defensively. "I'm fine. I'm not hungry."

"You should really try to eat something."

"I'll pass. I don't think I could even manage a bite," Avery cringed, her stomach doing a flip at the thought.

"Alright, then it's just me tonight," Cass said, sounding mildly annoyed, as she threw a few more caps on the counter. "Thanks, James."

"You said you'd ' _have the usual._ ' Do you come here every day?" Avery queried.

Cass shrugged. "Only when you're out doing your whole 'hero courier' thing. Boone used to be my drinking buddy, but you've seemed to run him off."

"Hey, he ran away of his own volition. It's not my fault that he's as stubborn as a mule."

"You and I both know that Boone has and always will be as stubborn and unmovable as stone. Have you heard anything from him lately?"

"Nah, but I didn't expect to. He was pretty pissed off when I left him back in Novac."

"You never told me what happened," Cass said affably. "Did you want to talk about it?"

"It's a long story, Cass."

"Then give me a synopsis."

Avery groaned and buried her face in her hands. She hated to admit it, but she had missed her grumpy sniper companion quite a lot. But between killing House, talking with King, and planning her next move with Yes Man… she hadn't had a lot of time to deliberate on her current standing with Boone. Was he even still angry? That man could hold a grudge like it was nobody's business. It was almost inhuman.

She let out a long, aggravated sigh and pursed her lips. "Okay. I can try that. Um… let's see. He drunkenly kissed me one night and I _may have_ overreacted."

"Overreacted… how?"

"I slapped him," Avery said in a small voice, afraid to look Cass' way. "Then I took up that caravan contract with Jed and refused to let Boone come with me," she paused. "Okay, I'm not even looking at you but I can feel your judgmental glare."

"Damn right," Cass' voice was dangerously low. "I am _so_ judging you. What a shitty thing to do to your friend, Avery. No wonder Boone stayed in Novac."

"You don't understand, Cass. I've been under so much stress, that him kissing me…. it was a breaking point! It was like I just snapped, and…"

"Stop," her friend interjected. "I know that you had your reasons, Ace. I also know that you're going to do anything you can to try and convince yourself- and me, that you didn't do anything wrong. But, be empathetic. Look at it from Craig's perspective."

Avery felt her face flush, an inexplicable heat spreading across her cheeks and lingering in her chest. "I _have_ looked at it from his perspective."

"I don't think you have," her friend said amicably. "You slapped him, abandoned him after a year of partnership, and then you leave him waiting for you in Novac for three months? I mean… wow, Ace. That's cold."

Her skin prickled with embarrassment under the scrutiny of Cass' glare. Had she been wrong? Was it possible that _she_ the asshole and not Boone?

"I guess…" Avery started, stopping to swallow the growing lump in her throat. "I guess I was impulsive and unfair."

"It's never easy to admit when you're wrong, but it's necessary," Cass said, sounding more like a sage than a caravaneer.

Avery pressed her index finger against her lips. "Hm, does that mean you're going to admit that alcohol isn't a problem solver?"

Cass shot her friend a dirty look. "Watch it."

Avery couldn't help the smile that pulled at her lips. After a few moments of comfortable silence, Francine emerged from the kitchen with an array of dishes lined in neat rows upon her arms. She handed them out in a clock-wise order around the bar, finally settling on Cass. A plate of some mystery meat, still steaming, was set before the red-head. Avery had almost forgotten that Cass had ordered a meal, and she brought her face closer and peered at the plate with mild curiosity. A horrendous, malodorous scent invaded her senses and she wrenched back in disgust. She scrunched up her nose and tried to ignore her stomach, which was lurching and twisting.

"What's wrong, Ace? You look a little green."

Avery pointed an accusing finger at the plate of food. "What the hell is that?"

Cass looked genuinely confused, "It's just Brahmin steak. I eat this all the time."

"It smells… rotten. Between that and the smell of your whiskey, I feel like vomiting all over the counter."

The redhead brought her nose close to the steak and inhaled deeply, giving her head a slight shake. "It smells delicious to me." She hoisted her knife up to the plate and cut a segment of the meat from the rind, placing the small portion in her mouth. She chewed slowly, "It tastes fine, Ace. I think you're losing it."

"No kidding," Avery pulled a bottle of water from her bag and gulped some down, hoping it would abate her queasiness. "Francine was cooking Brahmin steak the other day and it smelled the same way."

Cass halted mid-chew. "How long have you had this aversion to Brahmin?"

"I don't know," Avery said, exasperated. "It started right after the nausea. And it's not just Brahmin, it's happened with squirrel bits and iguana, as well. Why do you ask?"

"Maybe you're sick. If it's a recent change, you could've caught a bug from Utah."

"It's possible," Avery shrugged. "But I'm fairly certain it's just stress. The body does weird things under duress, we both know that."

"Still, it might be a good idea to visit Dr. Usanagi and get a check-up."

"I don't really think it's necessary."

"Avery, don't be a god damned fool. You know very well that this is out of the ordinary, and if it's persisted for a few weeks then it's obviously something that requires attention. Now, so help me, I will drag you there myself if I have to."

"Fine, fine. I'll go first thing in the morning," Avery said. "But I do have to meet with Yes Man tomorrow. So hopefully Dr. Usanagi doesn't tell me to get bed rest, because I do _not_ have time for that. I'm already a day behind."

"Whatever Dr. Usanagi tells you to do," Cass turned her steely blue eyes onto Avery, "you _will_ fucking do it. I will see to that."

"Jesus, Cass. You sound like my mom," Avery rubbed a hand across her face with an annoyed grunt. "What's your deal?"

"Ugh." Cass let her silverware drop onto her plate, her eyes never leaving Avery's face. Her lips quirked downward and she frowned deeply. "Nothing can happen to you, Ace. The fate of New Vegas rests on your shoulders. If something bad _did_ happen to you, and you were to be taken out of the equation… we would fall flat on our faces and wind up at the beginning. Again. So it's very, very important that you remain healthy."

She paused and shoveled another bite of steak into her maw, her face falling, as if deep in thought. She swallowed her bite, "And you know… if that means taking a few weeks off to rest and get better, then so be it."

Avery rested her chin in the palm of her hand and let out a low hum. "That's it? That's the only reason?"

"Well, that and… I'm kind of fond of you," Cass let out a tight laugh. She was trying to lighten the mood but her eyes betrayed her, revealing a tangible worry in those crystalline depths.

Avery rested her hand upon Cass' arm and gave it a light squeeze. "I'll go tomorrow, Cass. I promise."

Cass' gaze lingered for a moment before she turned back to her meal, taking a quick swig of her whiskey. Avery let her hand drop back to her lap and turned around, facing the lobby. It was nice to have someone worry about her, she had to admit. And Avery fully understood why the redhead was so troubled. Avery was the first person to get this far in freeing New Vegas and that was a huge fucking deal.

Avery also acknowledged that if Boone were here he would be just as worried about her health. But with Boone, his apprehension came from a different place. It wasn't logical. He would have told her to see Dr. Usanagi because he was concerned about _her_. And if liberating New Vegas was the first thing she had to drop in order to get better, he would support that wholeheartedly. As long as they could keep killing Legionaries, then he'd be fine.

Cass was different. She was far more level-headed and goal oriented. Sure, she was genuinely worried about Avery, there was no doubting that. But her concern was more about the many than the few. Cass saw the big picture, she always did. But that's why she and Avery got along so well. She sighed.

Avery stood from her stool and muttered a quick goodbye to Cass, as much to her friend's chagrin. Avery had been happy to resign to bed before nine in the evening ever since she returned from Utah. Sleep was something she looked forward to. She had so much on her plate that being able to doze off into unconsciousness for a few hours was a sweet, sweet release. The only thing that hindered her was the unwavering nausea that she felt, but it hadn't totally stopped her from being able to sleep.

She drudged up the stairs, her feet dragging behind her as she went. Every fiber of her being was exhausted. She hadn't even done much today.

She started off with her usual rounds, stopping by Old Mormon Fort to talk to her friend, Arcade. They were in dire need of medical supplies and she handed them over without issue, since she had stockpile of supplies hidden away in her safe. Arcade had wanted to catch up be she hadn't the time, so she promised to swing by the following day with some lunch (another thing to add to her to-do list tomorrow). Then she went to trade in some Utah goods for some new equipment at Mick & Ralph's. After that, she went to talk to Yes Man, but ended up getting side tracked by a performance being held at the King's. She remained there until the early evening, when she decided to retire to her hotel room.

But once she walked into the Atomic Wrangler and saw Cass at the bar she couldn't stop herself from taking a seat, too excited to break the news of House's demise to head to bed. But now, after all of the surging adrenaline faded from her bloodstream, she felt reality's grip. She had set herself back by not accomplishing anything worth while today. There was so much to be done and yet she avoided it all. So now, on top of visiting Dr. Usanagi, she had to swing by and discuss her plans with Yes Man (who she was sure had an entire list of things for her to do). She was sure Arcade would understand if she were to reschedule.

The door to her hotel room creaked as she slid inside, flipping on the light switch. A small lamp in the corner of the room flickered to life and she flung herself onto her bed. After a few moments, she rolled onto her back, letting out a low groan of contentment. It wasn't long before she felt the welcoming embrace of sleep, and she willingly succumbed to the darkness that washed over her.

* * *

A fluorescent light flickered somewhere above her, fading in and out in quick succession, its yellowish iridescence casting the small room in an eerie hue. A derelict clock hung forlornly on the wall, its hands frozen in time, the glass face cracked and jaded. Paint chipped and hung loosely from the walls, an adjacent window boarded up and shielding her from any sunlight. The tumultuous flickering of the light exacerbated her nausea and she kicked her feet idly, her legs dangling over the edge of the examination table, trying to ignore the queasy sensation.

The patient gown Dr. Usanagi had given her was scratchy and severely uncomfortable. She raked her fingers across her lower back where the fabric irritated her skin. She had been waiting for what seemed like hours, but she knew it had only been about fifteen minutes. Time seemed to drag on in a doctor's office. Whether it was the anticipation of procedure or the subsequent paranoia of a negative prognosis, one minute in a clinic felt like ten.

She was never fond of clinics or hospitals. It always smelled of alcohol and an underlying putridity, with the reminder of death lingering behind every corner. The old derelict clinics tended to be even worse, with hundred year old blood stains and rust reaching every alcove of the building. It put her on edge and she felt restless, fidgeting every few minutes. It didn't help that she had been feeling like absolute shit for the past month, but being pressured to see a doctor by Cass had her feeling shittier. She brought her fingers to her mouth and gnawed at the cuticles.

Just as she was beginning to lose her sanity, the door to the room slid open after a terse knock.

Dr. Usanagi walked in, carrying a clipboard in one hand and tucking her hair behind her ear with the other. She seemed tired, not that it was a surprise. Authentic, well-trained doctors were scarce in the Mojave, and seeing that she was the only decent clinic within walking distance of New Vegas, she constantly had her hands full.

The doctor scanned the clipboard and looked up, "Avery Dixon, how are you? It's been a while."

"Ah, yeah. It has," she swallowed nervously, twirling a strand of flaxen hair between her forefinger and thumb. "I've been better, I'm not feeling too hot."

"I can see that," her calculating eyes did a quick sweep over Avery's form. "When you first arrived, you said you were looking for just a regular checkup. What prompted you to head in?"

"I've been feeling a bit nauseous lately, and absolutely exhausted," she rolled her head from side to side, the bones in her neck popping succinctly. "I've also developed this strange aversion to meat."

"Hm, that's quite unfortunate. Let's get down to what's bothering you," she set the clipboard onto a small medical tray to her right. "Now, from your symptoms it just sounds like it could just be a flu. How long have you been experiencing them?"

"It's been a few weeks now," she replied.

Dr. Usanagi let out a small hum from the back of her throat and moved towards her. She brandished her stethoscope and pressed the metal head against her back. The steely metal head was freezing, she could feel it through the flimsy fabric of her medical gown. It caused a wave of goosebumps to prickle across her skin and she suppressed a shiver. It took a few moments of the doctor commanding her to breathe in and then out. Then in. Then out. After moving the head of the device to her chest and repeating the process, the doctor then retracted her medical device and wrapped it around her neck. She scribbled something in jumbled writing on her clipboard without saying a word, which did not bode well with Avery.

She brought her hands up to Avery's throat, setting her slender fingers on either side of her neck, moving them in concise circles, "I'm just feeling for any swelling in your lymph nodes."

Avery always found doctors intrusive, but it was their job to be so. It wasn't the doctor's fault that Avery was uneasy with being in close proximity to others. But if there was a way to be sufficiently diagnosed without having to be poked and prodded, she would be beyond elated and far more comfortable with doctors in general.

Dr. Usanagi continued to feel for any swollen lymph nodes, then moved to check her liver. As her skilled hands applied pressure to her upper abdomen, Avery felt something weird. She grimaced and wiggled away, feeling annoyed by the sensation, which was a mixture of sore and a dull ache. The doctor clicked her tongue in annoyance, ignoring Avery's futile attempts to squirm away.

"You grimaced when I put pressure on your abdomen. How long have you had that?"

"It started around the same time as my nausea," Avery responded, a bit puzzled. "But I don't remember it feeling _that_ bad."

Dr. Usanagi quirked a perfectly maintained eyebrow. "Do you mind if I check your stomach again?"

Avery nodded mutely, lying back against the examination table. As her doctor pressed down on her abdomen once more, she let out a small groan. The lower her hands went, the more uncomfortable Avery felt. It was over as quickly as it started and Dr. Usanagi retracted her hands.

"Hm. Odd," she hummed, checking the chart again. "When was your last menstrual cycle? It's not on the chart."

"March-" she stopped, her eyebrows furrowing together.

No... that wasn't right. It was wrong, it had to be wrong. It was currently the first week in June. She should've had her period the third week of April. Her period was like clockwork, always arriving on the third week of every month.

Avery racked her brain, trying to backtrack through every day of the past two months.

"Avery, your last menstrual cycle?" Dr. Usanagi inquired again.

Avery suddenly felt weak, her skin breaking out in a cold sweat. She tried to swallow, smacking her lips together, her mouth as dry as the Mojave. Her throat felt like it was closing.

The third week of every month, she gets her period. The third week of March was the last time she remembered getting her cycle. She remembered because she had the embarrassment of asking the tribal women in Zion if they had any sanitary napkins or feminine hygiene products. But the third week of April...

Avery stiffened.

Between taking down White Legs totems and killing an insanely large amount Yao Guai, she had no recollection of Mother Nature ever stopping by. No cramps, no cravings, and no mood swings. She felt the blood drain from her face. It all made sense now.

The nausea arriving right in the morning, constant exhaustion, sore stomach and breasts, the way she wanted to throw up every time she even caught a whiff of Brahmin steak. How she had, had an unusual craving for Fancy Lad Cakes, even going as far as hunting down a single box, after checking every store that offered consumables. She had scarfed down the entire box of snack cakes in two minutes, something she was never able to do before.

She didn't even like sweets.

"I... I need a-" she mumbled, sweating copiously underneath the flickering light of the examination room. She felt hot. She felt sick. Bile began to rise at the back of her throat and she couldn't stop it.

"Avery?" Dr. Usanagi sounded worried now, her hand coming up to feel her forehead. The doctor's fingers were cool against her burning skin. "Avery, what's wrong?"

Panic tore through her chest as her heart hammered behind her ribs and in her ears. All she could hear was a high ringing sound and she swayed, her chest trembling as she suppressed a groan. Her mouth started to water profusely, her stomach churning.

"I'm going to be sick," she managed to choke out.

Dr. Usanagi hopped back just in time as Avery bent over, spewing the remnants of her breakfast all over the scuffed linoleum floor. Vomit seeped from her nose and the corners of her lips as she tried to stop it, her hand coming up to cup her mouth. Nothing could assuage the wave of sickness that rocked her to her core and she threw up again, yellow tinted gall coating her hands and lap. Her doctor muttered something about grabbing a nurse and wrenched open the office door, disappearing in a blur to the waiting room.

As Usanagi's head disappeared from view, Avery let herself slide backwards. She plopped against the examination table, her gown soaked through with vomit. Faintly, nervously, her hand fluttered to her lower abdomen. It was two months. A little over eight weeks.

The mere thought of her stomach swelling with potential life made her queasy all over again. She rolled over and began to dry heave, her body willing her to throw up but producing nothing. A nurse came in and called out to her, but Avery paid her no mind. She felt dizzy, her brain buzzing with so many questions that she found it hard to think straight.

Maybe Benny had been right. She had been dealt with an 18-carat run of bad luck, and it seems her bad luck didn't die with him. She let her head fall onto the table and moaned, her hand remaining above her belly.

She was pregnant.

Fuck.

* * *

 **A/N: Ah, finally, another chapter. Next chapter we'll be seeing more of Boone, and the plot line will progress a lot quicker. I thought I'd do an Avery-centric chapter and clarify some of the weird symptoms she's been having. My mother and sister both had aversion to meat during their first trimester! Also, I just love Cass in an affectionate mom mode.**

 **Anyway, thanks for holding in there and I hope to update more frequently. Please, R &R! :)**


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